Abide
by shandiss
Summary: A routine job for Ranger plunges Steph into a world of magical make-believe.  Can a Renaissance Fair help Steph find her one true knight? Completely Babe. Rated M for violence and adult situations.
1. Prologue

_Author's note/administrative details note: First off, I haven't forgotten about "Nothing About You". I'm trying to find time to do the revisions on the rough drafts for the last two chapters, but this full length has been eating up a lot of my writing time. Hopefully I will be in revision mode on this one by March and can squeeze "Nothing About You" into the schedule. Secondly, I hope you enjoy this one. The ladies at Perfectly Plum urged me to start posting it here instead of waiting. I'll be updating at irregular intervals until I finish the rough draft and start revising. This is my first full length, and it's going on 2 years of writing, so I apologize for inconsistencies in writing style and quality. Thanks to Denny for the prompts that gave birth to this story, and to SueB for her unrelenting support and patience. _

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. (Yes, there will be at least one more part although I hope to expand it to 6 full lengths when all is said and done.) The good news is no major character death. The bad news is a representative of an endangered species doesn't fare too well. This is in the style of a 13__th__ century chanson de geste, which sounds very highbrow except when you're wearing 80 pounds of plate armor and chain mail while lying face down in the mud puddle where your noble steed just planted you with extreme prejudice because he thought he saw a carnivorous butterfly in the grass twenty feet away. Warning for a strong fantasy element. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, adult situations and language. All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

_**Abide**_

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

_Archaic [Old English]: To Live. _

**Prologue**

Stephanie Plum parked the rusted out '92 Corolla in the parking lot behind the bonds office and switched off the ignition. She sat in the faded blue fabric driver's seat and tried to work up some enthusiasm for actually getting out of the car. Her muscles ached all over with dull, throbbing pain and her knee sported an ostrich egg-sized swelling liberally decorated with purple and blue bruising. The entire package was courtesy of her last FTA, a no-necked, pea-brained Neanderthal named Fred Garipoli with a penchant for slapping women around. His latest girlfriend wised up before the first ER visit and called the cops when he started beating on her. He objected and won a ride downtown courtesy of the responding officers. Just to make sure everyone understood his feelings, he blew off his court date and that landed him directly in her stack of FTA files.

A sigh escaped her. Of course, Garipoli felt insulted by having a female bond enforcement agent show up on his doorstep. And of course he didn't feel constrained to merely voice his displeasure. No, he had to take a swing at her. Fortunately, she ducked under it and tackled him backwards into the house. It certainly wasn't her fault he landed on an end table with a glass lamp, and it wasn't her fault that he turned into a whiny, screaming, kicking mass of blubber when the impact drove glass shards into his ass.

The clean up had been low key even for her. The cops arrived after a neighbor called 911, and Big Dog was more than happy to haul Garipoli's sorry ass into the back of the patrol car. The EMTs insisted on checking her over, and she'd been seated on the bumper of the ambulance, biting her lip as the glass shards were picked out of her hands, when Joe Morelli arrived.

The litany was more familiar to her than the Catholic catechism she memorized in grade school. _You're a wreck_. Check. _This job is dangerous._ Check. _You're over your head_. Check. _Why can't you be sensible?_ Check.

Then he took a deep breath and stared down the street, his lips pressed tightly together and his dark eyes hard. Steph watched him, struck by the harsh flashing of the emergency lights on his face, and the unhappy despair she saw written large in his expression. Something inside of her shriveled, and she called his name in a soft voice.

The scene played out as it had in other times: her apologizing, Joe relenting, and her following him to his house to eat pizza and share the comfortable parts of their relationship. The only thing missing in the entire tableaux was Ranger, her mentor and bounty hunter extraordinaire. There'd been no sign of his sleek black Porsche among the mess of police and emergency vehicles, and not once had she felt the prickle at the back of her neck that warned he was near.

Now the next morning, she sat in her rustbucket of a car, her head tipped back against the seat and her eyes staring over the parking lot without seeing any of it. She hurt, both inside and out, and she didn't have the strength to face Connie and Lula with their questions and comments.

She palmed the keys and briefly considered playing hooky with an afternoon at the mall, but there was the small matter of the body receipt laying on the seat next to her and the negative balance of her bank account. If she wanted to enjoy eating and having electricity, she needed the money, and that meant braving the Trenton Inquisition.

She shoved the keys into her front pocket and grabbed the piece of paper. Heaving herself out of the car, she slipped her purse strap over her shoulder and slammed the door shut. A fine red powder sifted slowly onto the pavement, staining the dark surface an industrial strength red-orange.

For a long moment Steph stared at the powder, then she shook her head and trudged across the parking lot. The sounds from the street were loud in the dank, humid air. She could hear the cars humming by on the busy road out front, and the hundreds of other sounds and smells that made up the city's mélange. None of it seemed to touch her, though. Not today. Today she was wrapped in layers of thick cotton, completely apart from whatever this day chose to throw at her.

If the air outside was warm and muggy, the air inside was rancid, freezing and wetter than a locker room towel. It slapped her in the face like a clammy fish when she opened the back door, and Steph almost gave into her third impulse to run.

"White girl!"

_Too late_. Steph straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, going for the Jersey Girl 101 bluff. It didn't matter that she felt like shit. As long as she had her arsenal of attitude and stubbornness, they'd never see her sweat.

"Hey, Lula," she said as she breezed into the office and flopped onto the couch. "Connie. Got any new files for me?"

Connie leaned forward on her elbows, her shell pink fingernails aligned in a perfect row along her cheek as she gave Steph a knowing look. "Word has it that you're not in any shape for it, Steph. In fact, word is that Fred Garipoli landed a couple of good hits on you before the end table broke."

"Hey, that end table was not my fault." Steph huffed out a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am _not_ the person to blame that Garipoli has a big ass."

Lula pulled out a filing drawer and stuffed some folders into the front half. "You had something to do with why his fat ass landed on the end table, Miss Thang."

"He started it," said Steph, and leveled one of her better death glares at them.

Evidently, Lula's spandex now included Kevlar. She shoved the drawer shut and rested a hip against it. "You look like his fat ass landed on you, to be telling the truth. You need some shopping therapy?"

She shook her head. "Maxed out. Even with the Garipoli fee, I'm still scraping bottom for the month."

Connie sighed and slid some files off the stack at her elbow. "I can give you a couple of regulars, but there's nothing in your range beyond the nickel and dime stuff. I'm sorry, Steph."

"It's all right," she said, slouching on the cushions. "I can always mooch off my parents for food until something turns up."

"What about Ranger?" Lula held up a hand as Steph gave her a narrowed-eyed look. "I'm just sayin'. Batman's usually good about comin' up with jobs when you need 'em."

"He didn't even bother to show up last night. I guess I'm not such great entertainment anymore." Steph got up and took the files Connie had set aside, then gave Lula a faint smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll figure something out."

She didn't wait around to hear more suggestions about what she could do to improve her life. It seemed like everyone had an idea, but no one asked her about what she wanted to do. After all, it was her life, wasn't it?

A sigh escaped her as she pushed out the back door. The emptiness inside of her grew a little more, aching in the way that an old injury often did. It was the emptiness that only Ranger filled, and for the life of her she didn't even know if he even wanted to fill it. Maybe she was just fooling herself into thinking he was interested in her for anything other than a good laugh. Maybe—

"Babe."

Her traitorous heart lurched painfully. Drawing a shaky breath for courage, she turned around to see Ranger standing in the doorway, one muscular arm bracing the door open. His dark eyes studied her with uncomfortable intensity, and she took an instinctive step back.

"Hey," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Where've you been?"

He stepped outside, letting the door shut behind him. The movement brought him even closer to her, and she had to fight down the instinct to increase the distance again. "Talking to Vinnie. Tank drove over last night to check on you, but you'd already left the scene." With Morelli hung between them, unspoken but very real.

"Oh." Steph tried to keep her voice steady, but every fiber of her body felt the irresistible pull towards him. Ranger was like a magnet and she was nothing but a pile of iron filings, drawn towards him by the laws of nature. "So—did you need something?"

He slid a finger under her chin and tipped her face up so she had to look him in the eye. A long moment passed as he stared into her eyes, and Steph felt like every secret she'd ever held was stripped bare beneath his scrutiny. Finally, he nodded. "Got a job for you, if you're interested."

"Classy or street-walker slutty?" Steph asked, feeling a tiny bit of hope that her money troubles were about to disappear.

He smiled faintly. "Surveillance."

The hope stuttered a bit, but Steph grabbed onto it with both hands and held it still. "Love to. Where, when and for how long?"

He reached into a pocket of his cargoes and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. "Here's the short version. Lester can drop off the file tonight."

"Okay, sounds good." She took the paper and unfolded it, her eyes widening slightly as she read. "Ranger, this is a Renaissance festival."

"Sure is," he said, leaning against the brick wall next to the door. "Multi-state. The main company hires performers to travel a circuit along the coast throughout the summer. Word is that some of the performers might be using it as cover for other . . . activities."

"Such as?"

Ranger shrugged, a mere ripple of his shoulders under the black t-shirt. "Smuggling, maybe. Contraband would be easy to hide, and no one would question the number of people stopping at the vendor's, either to leave something off or pick it up."

Steph chewed on her lower lip for a moment, thinking. She'd been to a Ren Faire once in college, and hadn't been overly interested in ever going to another one. It seemed more like an excuse for geeks and nerds to dress up as elves and wizards than anything else; but on the plus side, at least she could wander around instead of being stuck in a car for eight hours with nothing to do.

"Smuggling seems a little low-key for RangeMan," she said, shooting Ranger a look from the corner of her eyes. "Won't your guys get bored with nothing to shoot?"

Again the shrug. "Even the little jobs pay," he said mildly. "Still gotta eat between the big ones."

_Direct hit._ "Okay, I'm in. What do you want me to do?"

"Wander around, keep your ears open. The guys will be doing the same, but they don't blend as well. I have one guy on the inside, but he's limited in range. He might have some info on where the action is."

"What's his name?" Steph asked, half her mind on the question and the other part trying to figure out how she would approach this job. She could go as a typical visitor in jeans and t-shirt, or she could try to blend in with a costume. Both approaches had their positives, but she wasn't quite sure—

"Mark." Her head jerked around, and Ranger gave her that faint smile again. "He has a lot of names on the circuit. Says he can reinvent himself every few years. Sometimes he's a performer and sometimes behind the scenes. I'll pass the word to him that you'll be working the festival. He'll probably approach you at some point during the shift."

"Got it," she said. Steph stared at the paper in her hand again. The location was northwest of Trenton. On an old dairy farm. Parking free, costumes encouraged, family friendly . . . yada yada yada. "I don't have a costume, though."

Ranger reached out and ran light fingers through her curls, lifting them away from her head and tucking them behind her ear. "Much as I want to see you in costume, you'll probably be better able to move in casual dress. Play the part of a tourist for the day."

There was something in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine, and Steph had a sudden vision of herself in a medieval bar maid costume. "So, do I get to see you guys in tights?" she asked, mentally fanning herself at the mere idea.

Ranger's smile flashed out of hiding, blinding her with its sheer power. He pushed off from the building and slid next to her, his breath warm on her ear as he leaned in close. "They don't make codpieces big enough, Babe." Then he was gone, leaving her to gulp air into lungs that no longer worked properly.

_Holy Mel Brooks, Batman!_


	2. Chapter 1

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed the prologue—I read and treasure every one, even if I am abysmally slow at responding. Thanks as always to SueB for her unrelenting patience, insight and support._

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. This is in the style of a 13__th__ century chanson de geste, with a strong fantasy element. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and adult situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). I am not a medical professional and the procedures described in this story are not intended to be factual representations of actual medical treatment. All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

_**Abide**_

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

Archaic _[Old English]: __**To Live. **_

Chapter One

The hormone surge made her more than a little dizzy. She staggered to the Corolla and slumped into the seat, one hand pressed to her chest to keep her heart from jumping out of it. Steph rested her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes, drawing in deep breaths until her heart rate slowed. Her mind chased around in furious circles, veering between relief that she would be earning money and irritation that once again, Ranger had saved her from herself.

_Maybe Joe was right,_ she thought, opening her eyes to stare at the worn carpet under her feet. It might have been blue in the distant past, but its current color was an industrial grey, and that was being charitable. _Just like my life. Faded and colorless._

Her thoughts weren't chasing their tails anymore. They skidded to a dead stop, centered on what Joe said to her last night after they'd reached home, and the recurring theme underlying them. No matter how exciting, no matter how thrilling her job seemed, there were too many times when terror or panic replaced the excitement. Too many times disaster was only a stumble off the edge of a knife blade away. No matter how much she enjoyed the good parts of the job, there would come a day when she was completely over her head, and no one would rescue her.

She slid the key into the ignition and waited as the engine struggled to turn over. It stuttered several times, then caught on a throaty roar. Steph jabbed the accelerator pedal with her foot and kicked the engine off high idle.

If only her mind would kick-start that easily. Steph stared out the window, trying to choose her next move. Normally she would find a diner and commandeer a booth while she paged through the newest files. But as she glanced at the manila folders lying on her passenger seat, she couldn't work up the enthusiasm. Maybe a stealth trip to the mall instead; it couldn't hurt her credit card if she just window-shopped. . .

Her cell phone chirped at her, a bright, cheery note completely at odds with her mood. As she flipped open the cover, she glanced at the read out. _Great, the cherry to top the whipped cream on this day . . ._

"Hello, Mom."

"Stephanie, could you go one day this week without causing a scene?" her mother asked in a plaintive tone. "I couldn't walk through the market this morning without someone telling me about my daughter attacking a man in his own home."

"I'm sure they mentioned that Fred Garipoli enjoys beating on women." Steph put a finger to the twitching eye and pressed lightly. She'd learned the hard way that too much pressure triggered a raging tension headache.

Helen Plum paused. "No, they left that part out."

"Thought so."

There was a long silence, during which Steph debated faking a dropped signal, but her mother was too quick for her. "Come over for lunch. I'm making ravioli."

"I don't think—"

"Stephanie."

That tone stopped rabid dogs in mid-snarl and flattened them like a street pizza. Generations of Burg breeding ensured that every child recognized what that particular tone of mother-speak meant. The Marines probably considered it a weapon of mass instruction.

"Noon?" she asked wearily.

Her mother didn't relent. "Come early. I want to check over the damage myself."

"I'll be there in twenty," said Steph, and disconnected. The overwhelming fatigue crashed over her, but this time she had only her sorry reflexes to blame for it. At the top of her game, Helen Plum couldn't outflank her as easy as a dog herding traffic cones. Now she was committed to suffering through lunch under her mother's unrelenting gaze, and probably most of the afternoon as well.

With a deep breath that sounded more like an indrawn sigh, Steph nudged the car into drive and pulled out of her parking spot. The midmorning traffic was always light heading into the Burg. Most of the people were either already at their jobs or just coming home from night shifts. As she turned onto Perry Street, her mind drifted as she tried to come up with a good excuse for bugging out early. How hard could it be to find something that would convince her mother—

Brakes squealed hard to her left and Steph jerked reflexively away from a movement more felt than seen. Her hand spun the wheel as she corrected hard and spun the Corolla around in a one-eighty, her heart spiking with adrenaline.

She stared through the windshield at the beat up station wagon just yards from her, and the short, balding man glaring at her from behind its wheel. He sneered at her, then flipped her the New Jersey State Salute with both hands before driving off in a squeal of tires.

Stunned, Steph stared after him. A horn blasted nearby and she realized that she was sitting sideways in the middle of Perry Street, blocking eastbound traffic. Shaking her head hard to clear it, she cranked the wheel around and made it into the westbound lane without cutting off anyone. She took the next right and tried to turn east bound again, but the light at Clinton forced her to sit forever until she thought she would explode.

By the time she was once again heading towards the Burg, Steph felt like she was trapped in a nightmare where familiar streets didn't have exits and corners led deeper into the maze. Usually those dreams ended in back alleys with brick walls and no escape as the faceless enemy closed in. A gusty sigh escaped her as the light finally turned green. At least this time she didn't have to worry about the alley, although running through the streets like a madwoman held a certain appeal.

The traffic was nearly non-existent once she was on Chambers Street, and she sailed through four green lights in a row. _Three greens and a marginal yellow,_ she corrected herself guiltily. That yellow gave her a momentary flashback to the earlier near-miss, and her fingers trembled slightly as she parked in front of her parents' house.

Her grandmother stood at the door, her skinny arms crossed over her chest and an uncharacteristic stillness about her. Steph fished around her purse for the cell phone, and glanced down briefly to hit one button.

"Morelli."

"Joe, you have to help me," she said, pretending gather up scattered files to hide what she was really doing.

His voice warmed and grew husky. "Cupcake, what kind of help are we talking about here? 'Cause if it's the kind from last night, the department doesn't cover it as paid time off."

"That is _not_ the kind of help I need," she whispered frantically. "I'm at my mom's and I don't have a good excuse to get out of here after lunch. What do I do?"

"Pretend you're feeling sick. Throw up if you have to," he said.

Steph made an aggravated sound. "I can't do that! My mom will smell a rat. I need something better!"

"Sorry, Cupcake. I do my best work under pressure, but I have nothing right now." He paused. "If you still need rescuing by six, give me a call. I'll sweep in and carry you off after supper."

"Some help you are," she snapped in frustration and disconnected. A hasty glance at the porch showed her grandmother in the same spot, the excitement starting to vibrate through the air around her. Steph bit back the instinctive sigh and got out of the car.

Grandma Mazur couldn't contain herself any longer. She bounced down the steps and met her halfway. "Steph, did you shoot that Garipoli man you took in? Tina at Clip 'n Curl said you kicked him in the crotch and then shot him while he was writhing on the floor."

"No, I didn't shoot him!" She tried to give her grandmother a quelling look, but evidently those weren't working today, either. Grandma Mazur grabbed her arm and tugged her inside. "You tasered him in the crotch?"

"No taser either, Grandma," said Steph. She glanced around. "Where's Mom?"

Her grandmother flipped a hand in that general direction. "In the kitchen, adding more wine to her glass than the pot. _I_ know how much red wine is supposed to go in the marinara. If all that is going into the sauce and not her, you'll be able to light it on fire from ten paces."

"Better the wine than the scotch," said Steph, mentally bracing herself for this confrontation. She knew she was in the right on this one. Garipoli was scum. Women were safer with men like him behind bars.

Angie came out of the living room, her nose buried in a book as she walked. Steph could see her eyes skimming across the page, and she was a veteran of enough mishaps to see the oncoming collision between her niece and the hallway table.

Just as she opened her mouth, Angie executed a nimble sidestep and passed through the door into the kitchen. "Grandma, Aunt Steph is here," she said calmly, the words floating back to Steph as she stood wide-eyed in the front hall.

"How does she do that?" she asked. "It's not fair!"

Grandma Mazur shrugged. "Uncanny, that girl. She's been reading all morning, and most of last night, too. Doesn't want to go for walks or play outside. Just sits and reads."

"Where's Mary Alice? Isn't Val here with her?" Steph asked as a pot clashed against the counter in the kitchen.

"Mary Alice is at horse camp this week," said Angie as she came out of the kitchen, a glass of milk in her hand. The other hand kept her book open and in position. "Lisa has water babies swim class in the morning, so I'm staying with Grandma and Grandpa for the week."

"Oh, well—"

"Stephanie!"

Her shoulders slumped, but then she squared them and straightened up. She could _do_ this, damn it. "Coming, Mom."

Grandma Mazur patted her arm. "Go get 'em, Steph. Take no prisoners!" She gave her granddaughter a thumbs up and followed Angie into the living room.

"Aren't you coming—" Steph broke off and gave the empty hallway a long-suffering glare. "Fine. Throw me to the lions," she muttered, and went to face the Burg version of the Inquisition.

Helen Plum stood at the stove, stirring the pot of marinara as she slowly poured dried spices into the mix. She glanced at her daughter, and even from across the kitchen, Steph could see the tightly-pressed lips and sharp gaze that were all too familiar from her childhood. "Have a seat at the table," her mother said, and finished with the spices. She tasted a little bit of the sauce, frowned, and turned the heat to low before covering the pot.

"Now," she said, wiping her hands on her apron, "let me see the damage."

Steph thought about evading the order, but that the chase would be short and brutal. Her mother had that look in her eyes, and Steph knew she wouldn't get very far. With a sigh, she held out her hands palms up so her mother could see the jagged little marks from the glass shards.

"Does this hurt?" asked Helen as she prodded the cuts with her finger tip.

"Not really," said Steph, then gave lie to her words by sucking in a breath. Her mother touched the puffy flesh in the meat of her thumb again. "Okay, there it does. Easy, all right?"

"Hmm. You should probably see a doctor and get some antibiotics. You don't know what kind of germs you may have picked up from the lamp or the ground." Helen released her hand and went to the counter. "Did the paramedics give you any bandages or antibiotic cream for those?"

Steph tried to think back. At the time, she hadn't been paying much attention to the EMTs. Most of her thoughts were centered on the drama with Morelli. "I don't remember. There may have been a roll of gauze or something."

"Really, Stephanie." Helen opened a drawer and pulled out a package of gauze and a small tube. "Take these with you. Make sure you wash your hands thoroughly and keep the wounds clean. If the redness gets worse, go to the doctor. Mrs. Cavelli's niece ignored the redness and was laid up in the hospital for three days with IV antibiotics. I don't think you want that to happen."

Steph shuddered. "No, I don't. I hate hospitals."

"Then maybe you should try a line of work that doesn't involve so much danger." Helen laid the first aid supplies on the counter and shook her head. "I promised myself I wouldn't start in on you this morning, but you're my daughter, and I don't like seeing you get hurt. Is this really necessary?"

"It's my job, Mom. If I don't get them off the streets, then who will?" asked Steph. It was the same old argument, just a different verse than the one Morelli preferred to sing. The chorus was the same though, and she knew it by heart. "Listen, I'm going to go. I have some files I need to research, and Ranger has a surveillance job for me. Thanks for the supplies and the invite to lunch, but I—"

"Where are you doing this job for Ranger?" asked her mom. "You're not dressing like a streetwalker and luring men out of bars again, are you? I swear, if I'd known you would do things like that for a living, I would have packed you off to the convent school by first grade."

"They would have kicked me out by the second," muttered Steph, then slouched down in her chair as her mother sucked in a shocked breath. Okay, so she hadn't meant to say that part, but the thought of a restrictive boarding school denying her childhood freedoms made her blood run cold. When her mom didn't say anything right away, Steph screwed up her courage and glanced at her. Helen Plum stood at the counter with her eyes closed tightly and her hands gripping the edge of the counter with enough force to turn her knuckles white.

Slowly, Steph edged out of her chair. "Um, I think I'm going to see what Angie and Grandma are doing in the—"

"_Sit. Down._"

Uh oh. She sank onto the chair and wished she could keep going. Maybe through the floor and into the basement. _I wonder what the weather is like in China this time of year?_

"Stephanie Michelle Plum," said her mother in a slightly calmer voice, "I don't know where this attitude of yours is comes from, but it needs to stop right now. I hear you talk about flying, but have you thought for _one single second_ what happens when you want to land? You flit about in all different directions, never considering that the ground underneath you is either a quagmire or a wasteland. _Think_ about it. And consider that the direction you should be flying is into the arms of a decent, solid man who loves you and will be a rock under your feet. Solid ground, Stephanie. It has its benefits."

Steph opened her mouth to argue, to point out that she never wanted to land, but the weight of her mother's gaze flattened the words and her spirit with crushing force. So she nodded and looked down at the spotless patterned linoleum.

"I only want what is best for you, Stephanie," Helen said softly. "I don't want to see you crash into reality. It's not a future I want for either of my girls."

The words were on the tip of her tongue to point out that Valerie did everything right and still wound up floundering after her bastard husband ran off with the babysitter. The Perfect Child followed the straight and narrow, and it hadn't helped her out at all.

"Grandma?" Angie hesitated in the doorway, her book at her side. "Great-grandma said she needed a ride to the funeral home. Something about the DiMarco viewing?"

Helen looked at the clock. "That's not until this afternoon. She must be mistaken."

"Uh, she was pretty insistent," said Angie. She brought the book up to her chest and crossed her arms over it, hugging it tight. "She said she would drive herself if it was too much—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Helen snapped, and went over to the stove to turn off the marinara. "Stephanie, could you stay with Angie until I get back? Your grandmother is worse than having another child sometimes."

Steph got to her feet, seeing the opportunity to escape. "I should really get going. I have a lot to do this afternoon to get ready for this job."

"Where is it again?" asked her mother as she wiped her hands on a towel.

"The Renaissance Faire northwest of town," said Steph. "Um, Ranger wants me to wander around and keep my ears open. Really, it's low-key and not dangerous at all."

Angie perked up. "Is that the Mid-Coast Ren Faire, Aunt Steph? My friend Kelsie was going to this week. Her dad bought the Gold VIP passes."

"Stephanie, why don't you take Angie? The two of you could have a girls' day out." Her mother looked rather pleased with herself.

"But Ranger's already—"

Helen waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm sure he can get another ticket. It's not like the thing is sold out."

Between her earlier assurances that the job was low-key, Angie's obvious interest and her mother's knowing glance, Steph knew she was in a no-win situation. Her shoulders slumped some more. "I'll give him a call. I'm sure we can work out something."

"Thank you, Aunt Steph! Oh, I can hardly wait to tell Kelsie!" Angie bounced a little, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Helen, where are the car keys?" Grandma Mazur yelled from the hallway. She paused in the kitchen doorway. "I can't be late for this viewing!"

"_Don't you dare!_" Helen turned to Steph. "Take Angie with you this afternoon. She can sleep over and you can start early in the morning."

Steph didn't have the energy to do more than nod. "Sure, no problem. I'll help Angie pack."

"Thanks, dear." Her mother swept out of the kitchen, and Grandma Mazur gave Steph a broad wink and nod before following in her wake.

Steph tried for an enthusiastic smile for her niece. "Why don't we get going? We can stop at McDonald's on the way home. I don't know about you, but I'm kind of hungry."

Angie was off like a shot, her footsteps pattering through the hall and up the stairs. Steph followed at a slower pace, her mind half on the problem of keeping an eye on her niece and the other half listening to Grandma Mazur shepherd her mother out the door. As she reached the top step, she heaved a deep sigh, and remembered what her mother said about solid ground. Maybe it was a comfort to her, but why did it feel like a fifty ton anchor whenever Steph tried to think of it for herself?


	3. Chapter 2

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. This is a full length fic (currently planned out to 35 chapters) in the style of a 13__th__ century chanson de geste, with a strong fantasy element. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and adult situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

Archaic _[Old English]: __**To Live. **_

It didn't take long to get Angie packed. Steph sorted through t-shirts, jeans and socks, and added a sweatshirt for the cool morning air. A small duffel bag held all of it with enough room left over for the Ziploc bag with the toothbrush and toothpaste. She started to slide the zipper closed when Angie walked in with two large books.

"Which one should I bring, Aunt Steph?"

She blinked. "Uh, which one are you reading?"

"Both." Angie twisted the books so she could see the titles on the cover. "We had to choose a classic for the summer reading assignment. I went with Tacitus and Virgil. They're both kind of fun, but _The Aeneid_ is a little dense sometimes."

"Umm . . ." Steph moved her finger between the two, then grabbed one on impulse. She flipped the book over to look at the cover. "Guess you're stuck with _The Aeneid_."

"Cool." Angie put the other book on the bedside table and stowed the chosen one in the last free corner of the duffel. She slid the carrying strap over her shoulder. "Ready to go, Aunt Steph."

"Let's get this show on the road, then." Steph held the door as Angie walked out, then hesitated for a moment as she glanced around the empty room. The room seemed forlorn, like it had been deserted and would not be occupied again soon. She shook her head at the paranoid fancy, and followed Angie down the stairs to the car.

She pitched the files onto the backseat to make room for Angie and her duffel bag. As Angie slid into the car, Steph glanced around the street with as much nonchalance as she could muster. Maybe her spidey sense was working overtime, but she couldn't ignore the itchy, crawly feeling working upwards from the base of her spine to her neck.

The street stayed deserted except for a lone dog crossing about a block down, so she took deep, calming breaths and walked around the car to the driver's side. Steph shot a quick glance at Angie as she turned the key. "You ready for this?"

"Yeah. Kelsie didn't talk about anything else last week, but Mom said we couldn't afford the tickets." Angie shrugged, trying hard to play it cool. "I was kind of sad that we couldn't go. I promise I won't cause you any trouble."

"Don't worry about it," said Steph as she pulled out onto the street. "We'll make it a girls' day and do all the fun and crazy stuff. How's that sound?"

"Like a plan," said Angie. She smiled and her blue eyes sparkled with delight. "Thanks, Aunt Steph."

"No problem, kid." Steph turned onto Chambers Street and fished her cell phone out of her purse. She flipped it open and hit '1'. She heard one ring, then the connection go through.

"Yo."

"Hey, Batman." Steph felt the grin creep into her voice, and couldn't help tweaking the tiger's tail a bit. Angie's enthusiasm was contagious. "Got a situation here I thought you could help out on."

"Babe, is this a shooting situation or a bedroom situation?" Ranger asked, the change in his voice warming her.

"Neither," she said, silently cursing the breathlessness in her voice as her fingers curled around the steering wheel. The man could ignite her hormones by a simple sentence, and Heaven help her if he really decided to turn on the charm. "I've got a partner for tomorrow. Can you swing me another ticket to the Ren Faire?"

"Morelli?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips, wondering why that one word sent a shaft of pain through her. "No, not Joe. He's working. My niece Angie is with me. Listen, if it's too much trouble—"

"You're never too much trouble, Babe." Steph heard a radio crackle in the background and he paused. "Listen, I have to go. I'll make sure Lester has the extra passes for you. And Steph?"

"Yeah?" she said, still trying to kick her brain into gear through the sludge of overactive hormones.

"Have fun tomorrow. You've been working hard the last few weeks and deserve some time for yourself. Don't wear yourself out."

It was a long speech for Ranger, and Steph was quite sure most of her brain had frozen from the shock. "I—sure, no problem," she managed to get out without completely stuttering. _He noticed? He saw me for two minutes behind Vinnie's this morning and he noticed?_

"Good. Don't worry about the surveillance, either. Two men will be tailing you the entire day."

"That's not really necessary," she said.

"Yeah, it is, Babe. Nobody wants to miss out on the fun."

The line went dead, and she pulled the cell phone away from her ear to read the display. CALL ENDED flashed in large block letters. Steph thought about a word her mother never taught her, and flipped the phone closed. A flash of yellow two blocks ahead of them caught her eye, and she slipped through traffic to make the turn into the Golden Arches.

As she waited in the drive thru line, Steph tried to grasp the meaning of her conversation with Ranger. It wasn't completely out of character for him. He'd dragged her out of bed at ungodly early hours to run, and pushed healthy food at her every chance he could, but he hadn't seemed overprotective about the rest of her life. Of course, her lack of energy wasn't something that Joe noticed except when it impacted his evening plans, so she really couldn't—

"_Welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order?_"

The terminally perky voice from the speaker jerked her attention back to more important matters. Her brain and her mouth still wouldn't work coherently, but fortunately Angie knew exactly what she wanted. Steph, on the other hand, found herself blurting out the first thing that came to mind. At the drive thru window, she stared at the clear container of salad in the bottom of the bag, and wondered wearily why—_just once_—she couldn't get the nightmare day with the hot melt brownie in it.

She still hadn't forgiven God, Fate or the imps of the perverse by the time she parked next to the dumpster. She bundled the files into her arms and perched the McDonald's bag on top to get everything in one trip. The bag slid precariously as she reached down to unlock her door.

The knob flew out of her grasp with a sudden jerk and a smiling Joe Morelli stood on the other side. "Surprise, Cupcake. I was able to get a long lunch to—" He broke off as Angie peered around Steph. "Oh, hello."

"Hi, Detective Morelli!" She eased past Steph into the apartment, her duffel bag trailing off her shoulder.

Joe watched her for a moment, then turned back to Steph. "Care to explain? I didn't realize you'd be babysitting today."

"Well if you'd been more help when I called, I wouldn't be," she said.

He backed up a step, raising his hands instinctively. "Whoa, slow down. This isn't _my _fault. I took a long lunch to come over here and rescue you from your mom."

Steph gave him a pissy look and shoved past him. "It's pretty hard to do that when you're _here_ and I was _there_."

The McDonald's bag slid another two inches across her files. She made a grab for it, but Joe reached around her and snatched it away. "Hey! Give that back."

He held it out of reach. "I was going to call your cell and fake an emergency. Your mom would never question it because it was me, and you'd be free to come over here and help."

She settled against the table and crossed her arms. "Help you with what?" she snapped. Joe gave her a soft smile and a suggestive flick of his eyebrow. Steph rolled her eyes as she straightened. "Get real. That mood isn't even in this area code."

"Oh, I think I can coax it back home," he said, setting down the bag on the table and sidling behind her. He wrapped his arms around her as she moved away. Steph tried to pull out of his embrace and his arms tightened. "C'mon, Cupcake. You can't tell me you're not even a little bit tempted."

His teeth settled over her ear lobe at the same time that her heel hit his foot. "Ow! God damn it, Steph!"

She wrenched away from him and turned, her whole body trembling with an emotion completely incompatible with amorous passion. "Get out, Joe. I am not dealing with your games today. I plan on spending quality time with my niece, and then we are going to the Ren Faire tomorrow to enjoy ourselves."

"You have got to be kidding me," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You don't do Ren Faires, Cupcake. Handcuffs are the closest you've ever gotten to chain mail. You'll be bored stiff before the first hour."

Her lips firmed as she lowered her chin. "Leave, Joe. I have work to do this afternoon. I'll call you when I get back. Or not."

"This is a job for Ranger, isn't it," Joe said. His jaw muscle clenched. "He's the one who put you up to this Ren Faire. I'll bet he wants you to dress like a bar wench or a dancing girl."

"Don't go there, Joe. I'm not having this discussion with you."

He shook his head again, his cop face very much in evidence. "He's using you, Steph. Ranger uses people and throws them away. He doesn't feel anything—not loyalty, not love, not compassion—for anybody but himself. Wise up before you get hurt."

"It's my choice, Joe. For good or bad, it's always _my_ choice." Steph went to the door and held it open. "Now, you've been told to leave. Do it before I say something I _won't_ regret."

Joe glanced at Angie standing in the middle of the living room, her duffel bag clutched in front of her like a shield. His eyes went to Steph standing resolute by the door, and he nodded. "Fine. Have it your way, Cupcake. But don't expect to cry in my beer when he tramples you into the mud."

He strode out and Steph shut the door firmly behind him, making sure to throw the bolt and secure the chain. "Not that it would stop him," she said calmly to Angie as she came back into the dining area, "but it lets him know I'm serious." She went to the kitchen and picked out her biggest pots. With an air of calm resolve, she carried them into the hallway and stacked them in front of the door.

"Aunt Steph, what are you doing?" Angie set her bag on the floor and drifted closer.

Steph stepped back to inspect her handiwork. The never-used stew pot balanced on a trio of saucepans, and the strainer hung at a rakish angle from the very top. "It's my burglar alarm. Anyone I don't want to come in here will open the door and hit the pans. Wham! Instant alarm. He'll be lucky to avoid the pepper spray."

"What if it's someone you like?" asked Angie, her eyes getting a little wider at the thought of Detective Joe Morelli triggering her aunt's alarm.

Steph tried to hide her instinctive smile. "The only time he trips the alarm is when he wants to," she said. The memory of the last time Ranger had done so flitted through her mind, and the smile grew wider as she remembered the twinkle in his eyes as he stood in the middle of the scattered pots. There was no doubt in her mind that he had deliberately kicked them over, just to see how she would react.

She reluctantly pulled her thoughts away from Ranger, reminding herself that she had just tossed Joe out of her apartment and shouldn't be thinking about another man quite this fast. Hungarian hormones notwithstanding, decency required that she wait until at least three o'clock before she indulged in any Ranger-induced fantasies.

"So, you want to eat before it gets cold?" she asked, deliberately making her voice bright and cheery. A part of her was uneasy at having her niece witness one of her legendary blow-ups with Joe. She very much wanted to erase the tentativeness that she saw in Angie's expression.

It only took a few minutes to spread out the contents of the McDonald's bag. She tore off a couple paper towel sheets for placemats and added the forlorn bottle of ketchup pining by itself in her refrigerator. As Steph stared at her naked salad greens, she sneaked a look at her niece only to find Angie eating her Chicken McNuggets with one hand while flipping the pages of her book with the other. With a sigh, Steph stabbed her fork into the pile of romaine lettuce.

She chewed the rabbit food with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, but it didn't last long. By the fourth forkful, her energy was definitely waning, and she wished longingly for a chocolate shake to offset the overdose of healthiness.

"Aunt Steph?" asked Angie hesitantly. She put down her chicken and folded her hands over the open book. "Um, I was thinking . . . if you don't want me to go to the Ren Faire tomorrow, I can sit in the apartment and read all day while you're working."

"What? What are you talking about?" Steph dropped her fork into the salad and winced as the rebound sent lettuce flying across the table. "Who ever said I didn't want you to go?"

Angie twisted her interlaced fingers, her teeth catching the corner of her bottom lip and worrying it. "Well, I heard what Detective Morelli said, and I don't want you to feel like I have to go. Kelsie doesn't know about the tickets, so I don't have to say anything. And Grandma Plum doesn't have to know, either. I won't tell her."

"I want you to go," said Steph. She felt completely aghast that Angie made the offer at all. _Aunts don't make little girls feel unwanted,_ she thought to herself, then took Angie's hand in her own. "You and I are going together. I need you to make sure that I keep everything straight. I don't know the first thing about the customs or the food, and I will be lost without you. Are you with me?"

A delighted grin broke over Angie's face, and she slid her hand free. "I can do research for you. Anything you need to know about the Ren Faire and the people—I can find out everything on the Internet."

"Let me get the lap top." Steph didn't bother with setting the salad aside. She dumped it into the sack to throw away later and used her paper towel to clean up the table. Angie closed her book and nearly bounced in her chair as Steph grabbed her notebook computer and set it up. She plugged it in and hit the power button.

Angie watched the disk information scroll across the black screen, then disappear. "I could find some Renaissance wallpaper for you, Aunt Steph. That way you can get into the spirit of things."

"What?" She glanced over just as a high resolution picture she _definitely_ didn't want her niece to see popped up. "Look! Is that a bird on the window?"

As Angie glanced over, Steph grabbed the computer and swiveled the screen around. Angie turned back with a puzzled expression that quickly changed to exasperation. She rolled her eyes, a maneuver that Steph admitted was pretty good even by Burg standards. "Sorry," said Steph. "I forgot to change that since the last time."

"It's not a problem, although I don't think Detective Morelli would understand," said Angie. She watched while Steph quickly changed the drool-worthy candid shot Lula snapped with her cell phone camera last week as Ranger climbed out of his Porsche. It was perfect by any standards, between the sunglasses hiding his eyes and the muscled forearm resting on the roof of the car as he looked down the street.

Steph clicked the OK button and watched as the screen changed to a nondescript blue. "Joe Morelli isn't a woman, otherwise he _would_ understand. Completely."

"If you say so," Angie said doubtfully. She took the computer from Steph and slid it closer to her chair. Flicking her fingers across the mouse pad, she peered at the screen and then started typing quickly. "I'll see if they have a web site first. We can vet the registered vendors and acts, then trace the interesting ones."

Grabbing a pad of scratch paper and a pen from a kitchen drawer, Steph settled into the chair next to Angie's so she could look over her shoulder as she typed. The web page for the Mid-Coast Renaissance Faire flashed on screen with a rapid montage of photos. Dancers, jugglers, musicians and performers, all dressed in variations of medieval garb, swirled around the logo in the center. One picture in the upper corner caught her attention. Steph stared at the knight in silver armor astride a horse in full gallop, and the chill at the back of her neck awoke again.

She pointed to it. "Can you get any information on that? It looks interesting."

"Oh, they have jousting!" Angie's fingers flew over the keyboard. "The knights use real lances and get points for either breaking the lance or scoring a hit. Double points are awarded for knocking your opponent off his horse."

It sounded positively . . . medieval. Steph blinked a couple of times, then stared at the page that came up next. A very large horse thundered towards the photographer, who had shot it from a low angle looking up. Sunlight flared on mirror bright armor, and dirt flew beneath giant hooves. The words _honor_, _valour _and _chivalry_ scrolled beneath the picture in a continuous line like a drumbeat that echoed the ground shaking hoofbeats.

"Holy shit," she breathed.

Angie flashed her a smile. "Does that mean we can watch the jousting tomorrow, Aunt Steph?"

"Oh, yeah," said Steph. The knights and the horses seemed bigger than life, and they called to her through the grey fog wrapped tightly around her senses. The picture blurred as she stared at it until she could almost hear the war shouts and the horse neighs. With a shake of her head, Steph dragged herself back to reality and watched Angie work through the list of music acts.

Picking up her pen, Steph made notes as Angie kept going. Some of the performers were local groups or soloists without websites. Those she starred to cross-reference later with Ranger's information. As they sifted through the pages and sites, Steph's respect for Angie's competence went up several notches. The girl knew information on everything from food to music, and she would shoot off on tangents with as much enthusiasm as Mary Alice trying out a new horse persona.

They were in the middle of the food vendors when Steph heard the locks on her front door rattle. Putting her finger to her lips to shush Angie, she slipped out of her chair and pulled her pepper spray out of her purse. As her niece watched with wide eyes, Steph took up position against the corner of the living room wall, her finger cocked on the button of the pepper spray as she aimed it at face height.

The door swung open with a slight protest of its hinges, and the pots chimed as the edge hit them. A male voice muttered an expletive, then there was the rustle of clothing as the visitor edged past the pots and into the hallway. She heard the first step onto the rug and brought the spray can up fast, her finger tightening on the trigger.


	4. Chapter 3

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. This full length fic, (currently planned out to 35 chapters), is in the style of a 13__th__ century chanson de geste, with a strong fantasy element. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, strong language and adult situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). I am not a medical professional and the procedures described in this story are not intended to be factual representations of actual medical treatments. All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

To continue to be sure or firm; endure.

Archaic [Old English]: _To Live_.

Chapter Three

"_Shit!"_

Lester spun away from her, ducking so the spray hit the side of his face and neck. He went down on his knees, coughing and swearing. Steph stood frozen for a long moment, her eyes wide. Then she tossed the spray can into the hallway. 

"I am so sorry," she said, hooking a hand under his arm and guiding him into the kitchen. "Angie, go get the baby shampoo out of the bathroom. It's in the medicine cabinet."

"Shit, Bombshell," Lester said, leaning over the sink with his eyes squeezed shut. "Why the fuck are you greeting people with pepper spray?"

Angie came running into the kitchen with the bottle of shampoo, and Steph started the water running in the sink. "I thought you were Morelli coming back. How was I supposed to know you were going to show up?"

"Ranger said I was bringing the tickets and files." Lester turned his face so she could scoop the soapy water over the affected areas. Tears leaked from the corners of his tightly shut eyes. Only his fast reflexes had saved him from getting the full dose.

"But that wasn't until tonight!" said Steph. "It's not my fault you're early!"

Lester sighed and rested his head against the edge of the sink. "Last time I checked, it's past 6 o'clock, Beautiful. If I put it off any later, I could have climbed in your bedroom window, but then I'd have to face Ranger in the gym tomorrow morning."

A quick glance at the digital clock on the microwave made Steph swallow hard. "I'm sorry. I guess we lost track of time."

"Nothing wrong with being dedicated." Lester reached around until he found the paper towel to dry off his face. He scrunched his eyes shut for a few minutes to force more tears out, then cautiously opened them. A few blinks later, and he was able to keep them mostly open. "Let's take this into the living room. I need to sit down for a few minutes."

"I'm sorry," said Steph again as she helped him navigate into the next room. Once he was settled on the couch, Lester leaned his head against the back and took slow, deep breaths. Steph took a seat at the other end, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. "Lester, if I'd known—"

He raised a hand to cut her off. "I'm not mad, Beautiful. The pots were a good diversion to distract intruders. The pepper spray might have been overkill, but I prefer it to eating lead from your .38."

"I wouldn't _shoot_ anybody!" said Steph vehemently. "I just want Joe to leave me alone!"

Lester gave her a long, measured look, his green eyes too sharp and knowing. "Deny it all you want, Steph. I read people for a living and I know you will do what you have to when it's needed."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it again. Lester might kid around, and he might be the most shameless flirt in New Jersey, but he didn't lie. Like the other Merry Men, he had a strict code of honor, and like Ranger he didn't say things that simply weren't true. If he saw that in her, then it was a very good bet that it was there.

"Don't worry about it," he said softly. "You're not a raving lunatic, and you're not careless. It's all right, Steph."

"You don't know that," she said and sighed wearily. "You can't know that."

Lester grinned at her, his good humor back in evidence. "I'm a good predictor of things, Beautiful. Even if I wasn't, Ranger is. He doesn't waste his time with the hopelessly insane or the criminally inept."

Steph couldn't argue with his logic, even though she very much wanted to point out the whole 'entertainment value' category in the RangeMan budget. She shifted on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her as she propped an elbow on the back.

"So, where's this information you brought me?" she asked, trying for a lighter tone. Angie had resumed her place at the table so she could listen to them as she pretended to work on the laptop. "We've been looking at the different performers and vendors, but it would help if we can narrow down the field."

Angie got up and brought a stack a manila filing folders over. She hesitated between Lester and Steph, but Lester gave her a charming grin and nodded towards Steph.

As Angie deposited the heavy pile into her lap, Steph moved so she had more room to work. With quick and practiced ease, she separated the files into three large categories: vendor/performer, Ren Faire research and miscellaneous. The last one included the rules of engagement that would tell her how Ranger wanted her to approach any suspects while working in the field. When to call for back up and when to disengage were two of the principles he'd drilled into her time and again. Hopefully this time she would remember them.

The vendors and performers definitely made up the biggest pile. Steph eyed it doubtfully, then sighed as she paged through the top three folders. "I know you've been putting together your own theories on this, Lester. Care to share any insights?"

He shook his head as he heaved himself to his feet. "No, not really. The core team talked it over last week, and we agreed you should go in blind. Let your instincts do the walking, Bomber."

Steph made a disgusted noise and let her shoulders slump. Lester grinned at her and reached into his back pocket. The folded envelope he withdrew was stuffed to bursting, and he waved it slowly in the air.

"Don't forget the tickets, Steph. Ranger wanted me to put these in your hands personally."

She was off the couch in an instant, reaching for the envelope he held just above her fingertips. "Lester! Give it to me!"

"Steph, is that any way to act?" Lester warded her off with his forearm. "The least you could do is set a good example for your niece."

Taking a step backwards, Steph put her hands on her hips and gave him a death glare. "I've already pepper sprayed you tonight, Lester. Don't push me."

The threat made him pause, and he studied her closely. When she didn't flinch or look away, he reluctantly lowered the envelope until she snatched it from him. Steph turned her back and ripped open the flap with clumsy fingers. The contents spilled out and she nearly lost her breath at the roll of cash clutched in her cupped hands.

"I can't take all of this," she whispered in shock.

Lester put his hands around hers and folded her fingers over the paper. "You can and you will. If Ranger hadn't done it, the guys would take up a collection. Eat yourselves sick, shop until you drop, and go nuts tomorrow."

"But, I—" Steph stopped. "Thanks, Lester. I'll make sure we don't leave a stone unturned out there."

He winked at her. "Go get 'em, Bombshell."

He turned slightly, and saw the book Angie had left on the corner of the table. "I didn't know you were into reading the classics."

"It's mine," said Angie said in a small voice. She ducked her head to fiddle with the keys of the laptop, and missed the charming grin Lester sent her way.

"There's nothing wrong with it," he said in a gentler voice. "I read it on one of my missions a long time ago. The soup can labels were boring and there are only so many times I could jog around the base."

Angie looked up, her attention caught by his story. "How'd you find a copy of it?" she asked in a whisper.

"A resupply chopper dropped a crate of food. Someone used paperbacks to cushion the impact, and _The Aeneid_ was the only one left when I came in from patrol." Lester tapped the cover with his index finger, a half smile on his face as he remembered. "I didn't study in high school; too many other things for a guy to do. But the Marines forced me to do things I didn't think were possible. Wading through Virgil was just another test of my abilities."

"Did you make it?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I puzzled out the words and read it through four times before we exfiltrated. I pick it up every once in a while to re-read it."

Steph saw the fledgling hero worship in Angie's eyes, and cleared her throat. "Thanks for bringing the files, Lester. I'm sorry I sprayed you."

Taking the hint, Lester nodded to Angie and gave the book one last touch before moving towards the hallway. "Don't worry about the surveillance tomorrow. I'll be on one of the teams shadowing you. Ranger and Tank have us switching off so we stay fresh. You'll probably see me here and there."

Steph followed him to the door. "I can't see you watching anything but the cleavage, Les."

"I'm a changed man," said Lester. He leaned a shoulder against the door and folded his arms over his chest. "I've seen the error of my ways and decided to repent."

"What's her name?"

His grin grew very smug as he dropped his voice so Angie wouldn't hear. "Perri. RangeMan bid on a project for her family's Uptown condo last spring. She likes to walk on the wild side, much to Daddy's dismay."

Steph smacked him on the bicep. "That's horrible. She's probably some sheltered innocent who fell in love with your good looks."

"There's nothing _innocent_ about Perri," said Lester as his grin deteriorated into an entirely too male smirk. "She knows exactly what she wants in a man."

"How does Ranger feel about your dating a client?" Steph asked.

Lester shrugged. "We lost the bid. When Perri made her interest clear, we decided this one could slide under 'corporate espionage'. I took it from there." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I _really_ enjoy digging for information."

"_Lester!_" Steph smacked him harder this time and he held up his hands to ward her off. "I can't believe you haven't been chased out of a window by a jealous boyfriend or husband yet."

"Miami, in a high rise penthouse." He shuddered. "Had to climb down the outside balconies in bare feet and walk home at 3 AM during spring break. Those college girls are _animals_."

His grin was completely unrepentant. "Good thing I didn't need to be at work until nine the next day."

Steph made a move towards him and he bolted for the door. He paused in the hallway, his hand resting on the door knob. "Have fun tomorrow and let us do the heavy lifting."

"Thanks, Lester. I'll make sure I don't miss anything." He winked at her and pulled the door shut. There was a pause as she strained to hear any sound, then jumped when the locks rattled and the inside deadbolt knob moved into the secured position.

"Show off!" she said, just loud enough for her voice to carry.

Lester rapped his knuckles once on the door. Steph shook her head at his fooling around, then sobered as her mind flitted from Lester to Ranger and his generous gift. She knew he would handle the tickets and other essentials for the surveillance shift, but adding in that much spending money was beyond generous.

She closed her eyes against the sudden tears. Always, she took from Ranger, whether it was money or cars or time. In return, she gave him nothing that he needed. Even if she sold everything she owned, she could never repay a fraction of what he gave her.

"Aunt Steph?" asked Angie from the living room.

Steph wiped the moisture from her eyes with trembling fingers. "Right here, hon. Let's order some Pino's for supper before we dive into the files, okay?"

As she walked into the living room, Angie glanced up from the laptop. "Sure, Aunt Steph. We don't have pizza very often at home."

"You don't? I thought Val loved pizza." Steph switched directions and went into the kitchen to pull the delivery menu from her kitchen drawer. When silence answered her, she looked up to find Angie staring hard at the computer screen. A drop of liquid silver inched down her niece's face, and the menus fell to the floor forgotten.

"Angie, what's wrong?" Steph knelt by her chair.

Angie sniffed and shook her head. "It's nothing, Aunt Steph. I just miss my mom right now."

"I'm going to call in the order for a large pizza with pepperoni, extra sauce and extra cheese. You can take my cell phone into the bedroom and call your mom. Tell her how much fun you're going to have tomorrow."

"Thanks, Aunt Steph." Her smile was a trifle unsteady, but Angie gave another discreet sniff and composed herself quickly.

Steph tried to make her return smile as encouraging as possible. "Good. Make sure you save your search. I learned the hard way when I worked for Ranger to never leave the computer without saving."

"What happened?" asked Angie as Steph got up and went back to the kitchen.

Her laugh at the memory wasn't the least bit self-conscious. "One of the guys—and they won't 'fess up as to _who_—changed the parameters on the search so the six-four, two-twenty drug dealer returned the results for a ninety year old lady who talks to fire hydrants and paints smiley faces on parking meters with her bright red fingernail polish."

Angie stifled a giggle, her eyes twinkling with laughter. Dutifully, she saved the information from the Internet search and powered down the laptop. While she was gathering up the files and setting them next to the computer on a corner of the table, Steph dug out the Pino's menu. A few minutes later, she disconnected her call and held out the cell phone.

"Remember to tell your mom that you're staying here tomorrow night and I'll drop you off in the morning. The pizza will be here in about fifteen minutes, so watch your time."

Angie took the phone carefully. "I won't talk very long and use up your minutes."

"Screw the minutes," said Steph. She flipped a hand at her. "Go on now. Shoo."

As Angie scurried into the bedroom and shut the door behind her, Steph settled into a chair by the table and flipped open the topmost file of the RangeMan research. This one was about the jousting troupe of knights and featured action shots of their work with handwritten notes underneath. Her eyes skipped over the words, irresistibly drawn to the vibrant colors in the pictures. The armor flashed argent under the sun, and the glossy sheen of the horses' hair made her wish for something as vibrant as the life frozen so still.

Almost automatically, she flipped to the next dossier. A man stood in a circle of people, his arm flexed as he whirled a ball of fire on a chain around his head. He was rather short and balding, and wore a leather vest over with brown leather pants tucked into half boots. The spectators were gathered in a tight circle around him, their awed expressions barely visible in the picture's low light.

Abruptly, Steph shut the folder and moved towards the kitchen. She swept the menus scattered on the counter into the drawer, then wiped off the top of the counter. She changed Rex's water and scattered some hamster kibble into Rex's cage. The little hamster dove for the kibble and stuffed his cheeks until they bulged before disappearing inside his soup can with a saucy flick of his tail as thanks.

She tapped a finger on the glass, but Rex refused to come out of his can again. Steph laughed at her stubborn little hamster and brought out the plates and forks for supper. She puttered around the kitchen for a few more minutes, then went into the living room to pace for a bit. Restlessness kept her feet moving, and the envelope with the tickets and cash on the coffee table in plain sight made it worse. She ignored it while her back was turned, but she quickly ran out of empty floor and had to face it again. She stared at it as the doubts gnawed at her, and finally she grabbed her purse and swept the entire pile into the main compartment. A strange relief flooded her when it was out of sight. Denial was so much easier when concrete reality didn't stare it in the face.

Angie came out of the bedroom. "I'm done now."

"How'd the call go?" asked Steph as she dropped her purse into one of the chairs. From the way Angie stared at the phone, she probably could guess without too much trouble. "On second thought, never mind."

Angie handed her the cell and Steph plugged it into the charger. The pizza arrived soon after, and they spread the new files across the table as they ate.

Steph persuaded Angie to put aside the computer after they finished the last slices of pizza, and brought out two heaping dishes of Ben & Jerry's as they sat on the couch in front of the TV. She scrolled through the pay per view channels, only stopping when Angie jabbed her spoon at the screen.

"That one, Aunt Steph! Have you seen that one?"

She peered at the lettering of the on-screen guide. "_Elizabeth: The Golden Age_? No, I haven't. Is it any good?"

"Yes, it's perfect." Angie bounced a little on her cushion. "It fits with the Faire tomorrow. It can be research into the time and mannerisms of the people."

"Works for me." Steph ordered the movie and scooted into the kitchen for the drinks before the opening credits rolled.

She settled into her spot as the music started and vibrant shades of blues and reds and yellows flowed across the screen, shifting and changing until they became stylized pictures of people. Words appeared over them, and Steph surrendered herself to the story.

As she watched, Steph felt a yearning towards the life she saw on the screen. There was death and betrayal, but there was also a fierce life that seemed to make hers pale by comparison.

A sigh escaped her when the movie faded to black over the final scene. A glance at Angie showed that her niece had succumbed to the lethal combination of pizza and ice cream. Her eyes drooped nearly shut, then she roused herself and blinked rapidly.

"I'm awake," she said to Steph, just as a huge yawn overtook her.

"Maybe so, but tomorrow's coming early," said Steph as she gathered the empty ice cream bowls and the glasses. "Get ready for bed. We need our rest if we want to see all of the Faire."

Angie staggered towards the bathroom. Steph put the dishes in the sink and checked Rex to make sure he had fresh water. She turned out all the lights except for the one over the sink and stopped as she saw her phone sitting in the charger. Before she could second guess herself, she disconnected it and carried it into the bedroom.

The water shut off in the bathroom as she laid it on the bedside table, and Steph took the blanket off her bed for Angie. It only took a few minutes to settle her on the couch and check the front door locks one last time. Steph set up her early warning system again, just in case. She didn't have any current stalkers, but she didn't want to be taken by surprise, either. Not this time.

She snapped the sink light off and listened for the sound of Rex taking up his nightly run on his wheel and the deep breathing of Angie's sleep. Walking softly so as not to disturb either, Steph went into the bedroom.

The streetlight shone through the window and bathed the cell phone in a pool of orange-yellow light. She knelt on her bed and picked up the phone, holding it for a brief moment before flipping it open and dialing '1'.

This time it went straight to voice mail. She waited for the beep, her tongue wetting her dry lips. The generic message ended and the beep sounded loudly in her ear. "Uh, it's me. I just wanted to say thanks. You didn't have to, you know. But . . . well, I . . . thanks. It means a lot to me, and it means a lot to Angie. See you tomorrow, maybe. Bye."

She drew a shuddering breath as she closed the phone. The hand that laid it back on the table trembled over so slightly and she told herself that it was just the day starting to catch up with her. Steph slid underneath the covers and turned away from the window. Facing the wall, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

_Darkness wrapped tightly around her. A breeze brushed against her skin with cold fingers, and the smallest hint of a salty tang tickled in her nose. A low roar sounded to her left, like the tumble of surf against a shore. Steph stopped and turned in that direction, her eyes straining to see anything._

_White flashed in the distance, and she recognized the momentary rise of a wave tumbling in the roll of the surf. She stared at the spot, willing another to show itself, and gradually her sight cleared until she could see the long line of breakers pushing towards the shore. She looked around and realized she stood on a beach that extended into the night with a large cliff behind her on the land side that reached towards a star-filled sky._

_The blazing night sky above held her attention captive. Steph couldn't remember the last time she'd seen so many stars fill the vault of the night. It took all of her will to turn away from that glory and start walking along the beach._

_The world tilted and spun, and she fell clumsily. Pain shot through her ankles as she looked down to find her legs encased in the sand. _

_Steph tried everything. She wrapped her hands around her legs and pulled, then sat on her butt and tried to straighten her legs. Nothing. Tears of frustration blinded her and she nearly sobbed as she continued to fight, but then the sand shifted beneath her. Solid turned to fluid with stomach-dropping speed, and she sank into the sand up to her waist. _

_Instinct kicked in, and Steph clawed at the sand around her as she fought against the suction dragging her ever deeper into the quagmire. All of her energy and strength poured into the struggle, but when she couldn't free herself. Terror poured through her like ice water, and she wept bitterly. _

_The waves washed higher onto the beach as the tide came in, and some of the stronger waves swirled around her. Steph dully wondered if she would drown or suffocate; the thought made her eyes blur again and she bowed her head and screamed in futile anger._

_Strong hands hooked under her arms and hauled her upright. She knew that touch as equally strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a hard, muscled body. Steph twisted around and threw her arms around Ranger, clutching him tightly as she sobbed in relief. He held her just as tight, his head bent next to hers as he whispered soothing words in Spanish._

_The shakes hit her with ferocious speed. She remembered another time when he held her until they passed. This time he didn't seem inclined to let her go. Steph drew strength from him, her ear pressed against his chest as she listened to his heart beat. "Where did you come from?" she whispered. "How did you know I needed you?"_

_Ranger's arms tightened briefly, then loosened so she could draw back a little. He gazed down at her, his dark eyes nearly invisible in the shadows. "I'll always find you, Babe. No matter where you go, I'll always come for you."_

_He turned his head to look down the beach, and Steph peered over his shoulder to see the moon breaching the cliffs. As its pale light pierced the shadows, she saw a large white outline spring to life on the rock face above the surf._

"_What is that?" she asked, moving slightly to get a better angle. _

_Ranger shook his head. "The question is not what you look at, but what you see__," he said__, then vanished like smoke. _

"_RANGER!"_

"_This is your destiny, Stephanie Plum," said a woman's voice from the darkness. She spoke gently and soft, like a mother talking to her frightened child. "You've been seeking it these past years, and now you've found it. But always remember, dearling—trying to find your destiny has ever been like a wave thinking it can find the sea."_

Steph jerked awake, breathing hard and staring into the impenetrable darkness. She flopped onto her back and locked her eyes on the ceiling as she waited for her heart rate to slow. It eased into a steady rhythm after a while, but it was a long time before she was able to close her eyes again to seek sleep.


	5. Chapter 4

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and sexual situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

Archaic _[Old English]: __**To Live. **_

CHAPTER FOUR

"Why are cow pastures always so big?" asked Steph plaintively as she stood by the car. She stared across the wide field filling rapidly with cars and people. "How many cows do they need?"

Angie popped out of her side. "An artisanal dairy keeps 20-30 milking cows and a commercial farm can have 100-130 cows in production."

Steph's jaw dropped as she stared at her niece. Angie's eyes widened and she clapped both hands over her mouth. They stared at each other across the top of the car, then a muffled giggle escaped Angie.

Steph shook her head. "Where do you get all of that information? It's downright scary."

"I don't know," said Angie. "The stuff is just there."

"Warn me before you do it again, okay? I need time to prep myself." Taking another look around the rapidly filling parking area, Steph hoisted her purse over her shoulder and locked the Corolla. They were about halfway between the gate and the Faire grounds, near the tree line. At the far end, towards the north, the main gate was marked in the middle of a large wooden fence by flags flying from the posts above it.

The other door shut and Angie came around the front of the car. "Ready, Aunt Steph? You have the tickets?"

"Right here," she said, patting the purse. Also hidden in the depths of the brown leather bag were her cell phone, stun gun, pepper spray, and a set of handcuffs. After Lester's statement about going in blind, Steph was determined that she would be ready for anything. The .38 was in a case stuffed beneath the driver's seat of the car, complete with bullets. Angie's book laid on the passenger side seat, her place marked with a strip of paper torn from a McDonald's receipt.

They joined the groups of people walking towards the main gate. Angie slipped her hand into Steph's as people pressed around them, and Steph gave it a reassuring squeeze. By the time they walked up the broad approach to the gate, the crowd was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

Several musicians scattered around the area performed for the people as they waited to enter. One man in a multi-colored patchwork tunic juggled bright orange and pink balls while singing in a pleasant baritone. Steph couldn't understand the words; they seemed to be in German, but when Angie choked, she glanced at her.

"Old English," she said, biting her lip.

"And he's saying . . ."

Angie tugged her down and whispered in her ear. Steph felt the flush creeping across her face and swallowed. She glanced at the juggler and blushed harder. "Right. We're going to talk about what you read when we get home."

That made Angie giggle, and Steph resisted the urge to fan herself. She hung onto Angie's hand a little tighter and walked faster to get out of earshot.

They reached the main gate and passed underneath a walkway to the ticket booth. Steph handed the tickets to the man by the turnstile. He smiled at them and tore the bottom half off both tickets before giving them back.

"In case you need to fetch summat from yer wagons," he said, his words a strange mixture of Jersey and English accents.

"Uh, thanks," said Steph. She slipped the ticket stubs into her purse and took Angie's hand again as they walked into the Faire proper. The space opened up into a tiny square with a few shops on either side. A broad street led out of the square and further into the grounds. Tall trees shaded the street and shops lined each side. Streamers and flags fluttered in the breeze, and a distant drumbeat beckoned them further onward.

Her feet carried her forward to the street and the drums beyond. Angie walked beside her, occasionally tugging her to the side as a shop or performer caught her interest. Medieval actors strolled through the crowd as well, occasionally accosting the unsuspecting as they played the part of villagers and nobles.

They came to a crossroads and chose the right hand path. About halfway down, Steph saw a bakery and followed her nose like a hound homing in on a T-bone steak. A few minutes later, she and Angie were nibbling on a layered honey and nut confection as they continued their stroll. The sweet phyllo dough melted on her tongue in a slowly spreading puddle of sugar and honey, and she barely stifled a moan as she bit into it again.

"This is absolutely sinful," she said, licking the honey of her fingers. A stop at a wash station rinsed the worst of the stickiness from her fingers, and fortified by the calories, she followed Angie deeper into the Faire. While she browsed through the shops, she kept her eyes and ears open to the conversations around her for anything of interest.

Angie darted into a dress shop as Steph lingered by a display table of earrings. Steph followed her into Mistress Clara's Emporium and she discovered racks of clothes that would tempt any Jersey girl worth the name. Earth-toned, sturdy work clothes hung next to dresses in bright shades and delicate fabrics. She paused near the Middle Eastern dancing girl costumes and tried to imagine the response of her friends and family if she bought one. Her mother wouldn't understand, while Grandma Mazur would want to borrow it. Heat flowed through her as she thought of Ranger. He wouldn't need words to make his opinion completely and explicitly clear. The man said volumes with just the tiniest twitch of his mouth, or a fractional lift of an eyebrow. His eyes were the most expressive, though. Steph learned quickly that Ranger's eyes gave away the most, even when he tried to hide it.

She touched the filmy gauze and then reluctantly let it fall. Perhaps if Ranger showed more interest in anything more than a roll in the hay, she might be tempted. But he seemed content to keep her at arm's length with only occasional stolen kisses. Joe would gauge his appreciation of the outfit based on how long it took to get her out of it, and ripping would be completely acceptable. She sighed and started towards the front of the shop. Maybe she could look at those earrings again—

Her phone chimed the Batman theme, and she slipped it out of her purse. "Hey, Batman."

"Smart ass," said Ranger, his voice low and warm. "Turn ninety degrees right and take four steps forward."

"What?"

"Ninety degrees right and four steps. You were looking at the wrong rack."

Intrigued by what Ranger imagined that she should have been looking at, Steph did as he asked. She counted off the steps and looked up as she reached _four_. The sign read _Court Dresses_ over the row of clothes, but Steph didn't think she could imagine any place in New Jersey grand enough for these outfits. A mannequin next to the rack wore a dark green velvet dress embroidered with gold thread on the bodice and skirt. The under dress was of a white filmy material that showed around the embroidered band of the square neckline and in the puffy sleeves that filled out the trailing sleeves that nearly touched the floor.

"There isn't a place in the world I can wear that to," said Steph before she thought.

Ranger laughed softly. "Pick out a good one, Babe, and I'll find a place."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the phone beeped at her and she knew he had disconnected on her again. She shut both mouth and phone with a snap, and Steph stared at the clothes so far beyond her wildest budgets and wondered if Ranger would pick out one if she didn't.

"May I help you, m'lady?" A woman in a plain brown dress hovered nearby. Her nametag read _Mistress Clara_ in broad, old-style capital letters. The smile she gave Steph was open and friendly, and Steph found herself smiling back.

"I'm a little confused. My friend seems to think I need a fancy dress," she said, trying a little laugh to ease the painful twist in her stomach. Hadn't Joe accused Ranger of wanting to see her in a bar maid costume? As the shopkeeper pulled out a deep red dress from the rack, Steph could see plainly that it wasn't even close to a working girl's outfit. This one had gold embroidery that glittered in the daylight with each twist and turn of the woman's hand.

"We call this one the Lyonesse," Mistress Clara said as she laid the skirt over her arm to keep it off the floor. "I did the hand sewing myself, and the embroidery is also done by hand. The over dress is made of velvet, and the under dress is tulle."

"It's beautiful," said Steph honestly. She reached out a tentative finger and trailed it along the skirt, marveling at the smooth plush fabric beneath her touch.

A frown darkened Mistress Clara's face as she saw Steph's hand against the skirt. "No, that won't do."

"What?"

She whisked away the dress and flipped through the others on the rack. "No, that is definitely not the right color for you, my dear. You need something that is richer and deeper, something that will bring out the tones in your hair and the hue of your eyes."

"No, really, that one is fine." Steph glanced around and saw Angie wandering through the children's section in the middle of the shop. "I mean, I've worn red before and—"

Her voice trailed off as the shopkeeper pulled out another dress. This one was a dark midnight blue. Silver metallic embroidery twined around the skirt and shimmered in figures of roses and leaves. Tiny points of light flared where tiny diamond crystals sparkled in the design.

"This one is the Lady of the Lake," said Mistress Clara. "It turned out fairly well, if I do say so myself."

This velvet was even softer. The under skirt was white with a faint moiré pattern in its weave. A narrow silver and blue braid ran along the hem of both skirts and the edges of the long sleeves.

"This is beautiful," murmured Steph. She desperately wanted to try it on, but there was no way in hell she could afford the dress. "I can't—"

"You can use the changing room in back," the shopkeeper said, a kindly light in her eyes. "Try it on, dear. Let's see how you look."

Before she could protest, Mistress Clara bundled the dress into her arms and gave her a gentle shove. Steph still hesitated, but Angie joined them and added her voice to the persuasion. After only a little more argument, Steph acquiesced. She went into the little room and shut the door, leaning against it to catch her breath.

Alone with the dress hanging from a hook, her doubts came back. She was on the verge of changing her mind when her cell phone warbled the Batman theme again. She snatched up the phone. "Ranger, I can't—"

Silence.

"Ranger?"

"Try on the dress, Babe. And find one for Angie, too."

He hung up before she could utter another word of protest, and she stared at the phone in exasperation. Her breath huffed out in a long-suffering sigh, and she stuffed the phone back into her purse before determinedly stripping out of her jeans and t-shirt.

Steph avoided looking in the mirror until she slipped the dress over her head. Holding the back laces together, she turned towards the mirror and forgot to breathe completely.

A stranger stood there with her wild curly hair and blue eyes, a woman who looked nothing like the Stephanie Plum she knew. This woman was a lady from every familiar childhood fairy tale with a knight who sought her favor and battled for her love. This woman inspired poets.

A knock on the door startled her. "Yes?"

"How goes it, love?" asked Mistress Clara. "Do you need help with the laces?"

"Uhh, yeah." Steph unlocked the door and made room for the shopkeeper. Mistress Clara squeezed inside, holding a small flat box in front of her. She set it down on the bench and twirled her finger.

"Around with you. We'll get this laced up and then see what needs setting to rights."

Steph obeyed, then sucked in a surprised breath when Mistress Clara gave the laces a hard tug. She tightened the bodice quickly, then smoothed out the material so nothing pinched.

"Give it a deep breath and see how it feels," she said as she adjusted the dress around Steph's shoulders.

She drew in an experimental breath. "It feels okay," she murmured. Turning around to face the mirror, Steph saw the full effect of the dress and how it emphasized all of her best points. The woman in the mirror gazed back at her, somber and beautiful.

"Um, how much is the dress?" She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

Mistress Clara patted her hand and reached for the flat box. "Don't be worryin' about the cost, dear, sweet girl. Your young man came in and paid for it. Told your niece to pick out a dress for herself, too. Margie is helping her."

"He already paid for it?"

"Oh my, yes." She fluttered her fingers in a fanning motion. "That is one _fine_ man, dear. Sweet, too. He insisted you have jewelry to go with the dress."

She opened the box. "A friend down the way made this parure last winter. I've had my eye on it ever since she unpacked it at the beginning of the season."

The gasp escaped Steph before she could stop it. A multi-level necklace dangled between Mistress Clara's fingers, its silver scrollwork design tipped with deep blue gems that flashed and glittered in the natural light. The shopkeeper gave it a little shake so the jewels sparkled.

"Turn around and I'll fasten it," she said. "There are earrings to match as well as a narrow tiara. 'Twill be a perfect touch to finish the outfit."

The necklace slid around her neck and Steph closed her eyes at the chill touch of the metal. Her hand went automatically to her throat, and she passed a finger over the smooth design. When she felt Mistress Clara step back, Steph turned to the mirror. She gazed hard at the image and felt something crumble inside of her.

"It's too much," she whispered. Tears stung at her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She was _not_ going to cry. "I'm sorry. I can't take this. It's too much."

Mistress Clara touched her arm gently. "It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it? Why don't you change to your modern clothes, and we'll put it aside for you. Help your niece with her dress, and then go enjoy the rest of the Faire. Walk about a bit, clear your head. Come back and get the dress before you go home."

"But I—"

"Don't think about it," said Mistress Clara. "Sometimes the voices we hear in our heads are only the words others put there, and they make us doubt what we know."

She quietly unfastened the necklace and placed it back in the box. Before Steph could blink, the laces on her dress were loosened enough that she could slip out of it, and Mistress Clara was closing the door behind her.

Steph couldn't help the last glance in the mirror, but the beautiful stranger was gone. All she saw was a little Burg girl playing dress up in her mother's clothes. With a deep sigh, she let the dress fall to the floor, then picked it up and hung it on the hangar. Her hand smoothed over the velvet skirt, and her heart broke a little more.

Grabbing her purse, she turned her back on the dress and walked into the outer store. She could hear Angie's excited voice from the other changing room, and another girl answering her.

Mistress Clara met her towards the front. "Browse as you will, love. I'll take care of the dress for you."

Steph opened her mouth to deny that she was even considering keeping it, but the shopkeeper had already disappeared into the changing room. Shrugging her shoulders, Steph wandered around the shop, keeping an ear on Angie's conversation and hardly seeing anything that was in front of her.

A noise at the front of the shop grabbed her attention. A boy of about twelve skidded to a stop just inside the door, a large purple feather in his cap bobbing frantically. Short sandy brown hair stuck out under the brim of the purple cap that matched his tunic and breeches. Steph noted that even his shoes were the same shade of purple. The effect was a lot like a California raisin, only younger and less wrinkly.

"My lady," he said, breathing hard. "Do ye know where be Mistress Clara?"

"Here, lad." Mistress Clara swept out of the changing room. "You have summat for me?"

"Tickets," he gasped, holding up a large envelope. "The Court Seneschal said a lady here waited on them."

"I have but one customer," said Mistress Clara with an innocent expression.

Steph closed her eyes and took a deep breath to screw up her courage. "I'm Stephanie Plum. Is that who you were looking for?"

"Yes'm." The boy handed over the envelope without hesitation. Steph slit it open and drew out two large tickets on heavy parchment. She frowned as she turned them over. _The King Commands Your Presence_ was printed across the top.

"What are these?" she asked no in particular.

Mistress Clara peered over her elbow. "Those are for the Royal Feast, love. Means you'll attend a Medieval High Feast in your new dress and outshine all those other ladies. Says here it's the late seating, so you'll have plenty of time to walk around the Faire this afternoon before you need to get ready."

"I can't go to a royal banquet! I don't know the first thing about eating or manners in the Middle Ages!" Steph felt like her brain was perilously close to exploding out of her skull. This was stopping here and now. What had been a job for Ranger was rapidly turning into an out of control nightmare.

Tucking the envelope and tickets under her arm, she rummaged through the purse for her cell phone. Between the money and the dress and now the tickets, Ranger had crossed the line between good friend and control freak.

Her hand closed around the phone just as Angie came out of the other changing room. A girl who could only be Margie trailed behind her, holding the train of Angie's dark green velvet dress so it didn't drag on the floor.

"Aunt Steph! Look!"

She held her hands out to the sides so Steph could see the long sleeves lined with a contrasting fabric. Angie started to twirl, then stopped as Margie made a warning noise. Instead, she twisted a little from side to side, showing off the princess seams and linked gold belt studded with large semi-precious stones.

"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" asked Angie, her smile threatening to split her face.

Steph released the phone reluctantly. "You look like a princess. Is that the dress you want?"

"Please, yes." The light in Angie's eyes was part delight and part hope; Steph couldn't bring herself to extinguish either one.

"Don't forget to find the shoes to go with it." Steph jumped as Angie wrapped her up in an exuberant hug.

"Thank you, Aunt Steph! Oh, thank you!"

As her arms went around the young girl, Steph silently reminded herself that her quarrel with Ranger could wait a little longer. "Remember to thank Ranger when you see him next," she said. "He paid for the dresses and bought tickets so we can go the Royal Feast tonight in our new dresses."

"Really?" Angie drew back so she could see the envelope Steph brought out. She touched the heavy parchment of the tickets, and her lower lip trembled a bit. "Oh, I really want to thank Mr. Ranger. Kelsie's dad couldn't get them into the meal. They sold out two weeks ago."

Steph put the tickets in her purse for safekeeping. "I'll make sure you get the chance. Now, go find the rest of your stuff. We still need to get some lunch before the jousting."

As Angie gathered up her train, Margie took the leather slippers that Mistress Clara held out to her and followed Angie back into the changing room. Steph managed to keep up the façade until the door shut. When she heard the latch click, the energy went out of her in a rush.

Mistress Clara brought over a stool. "Sit, love. You look all done in."

"I feel like it," said Steph. She sank onto the wooden seat. "I feel like I owe him so much. I can't repay this."

"Some people enjoy giving things away," said the shopkeeper as she folded her hands in front of her. She didn't look at Steph; her gaze was riveted on her fingers interlaced together. "Others move but to match the gifts of great price already given."

"I can't give him anything," said Steph honestly. "He doesn't even want a relationship with me."

"And he says not why," Mistress Clara said.

"Not a word," said Steph on a deep sigh.

The shopkeeper smiled. "The answer is very simple, I'm sure. Take your niece and wander down the lane a piece. The fortunetellers are in the small western square, and you ask Mistress Salome your question. She's a very good seer. I know you'll find your help with her."

"What can it hurt?" asked Steph. At this point, she was willing to try anything.

Mistress Clara beamed at Steph, then excused herself to finish packing up the court dress. The young page left as well, muttering an apology and giving her a bow before he darted out of the shop. It was only a few minutes before Angie came back in her modern clothes with Margie carrying both the dress and shoes. Those were taken into the back with Steph's dress, and Margie offered to braid Angie's hair before the feast so she could wear a little green velvet cap with a pearl pin on its crown.

With the promise that they would be back in time to get ready, Steph allowed Angie to pull her off the stool and out of the store into the street. The crowds were even bigger than the morning; a steady stream of people in modern clothes crammed the shaded boulevard. Musicians competed with each other for audiences and tips, and the mélange of music and voices birthed a sharp twinge through Steph's temple.

She rubbed the spot as she stepped off the board sidewalk. Someone bumped her and she stumbled. Quickly righting herself, Steph turned to find herself face to face with a flaxen-haired woman in a medieval costume dripping with jewels. She stared daggers at Steph, her light brown eyes glittering with anger, and impatiently righted the velvet cap knocked askew on her head.

"Mind your betters, peasant," she snapped. "Or use the cow crossing. 'Tis marked with pictures for the idiots."

"I'd rather be a heifer than a skank," Steph shot back with practiced Jersey girl reflexes.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You dirty, cankered trollop. I will see you pilloried for that."

"_Countess Harecote_." The voice was pleasantly deep, but the heavy emphasis on the words sent a cold chill down Steph's spine. She started to move, but strong hands placed on her shoulders held her still as the newcomer continued speaking. "You are a guest here, my lady. Pray remember that when you address the natives."

The Countess's expression changed swiftly. She tried a whimsical smile and cocked her head slightly to one side as she fluttered her eyelashes. "Fie, Sir Marcus," she cooed, "'tis not worth the pother with this one."

Her defender moved around Steph and closed the distance between himself and the Countess. She had to tilt her head back as he towered over her, and Steph's eyes widened as she got her first good look. He was nearly six foot tall, with raven dark hair, eyes darker than night and olive-dark skin. His clothes were all black, from the full cut tunic to the pants tucked into leather boots; a black cloak fastened at his left shoulder with a heavy silver brooch. The broad, callused hands that had been on her shoulders moments before were now on his hips as he stared down at the medieval lady like a troublesome gnat.

"Where did you lose your servant?" he asked in a tired tone. "Felise, you gave your word of honor you would not walk alone through this Faire."

The Countess flipped her hand in the air, dismissing the question. "He is dull. I would fain walk in your company than his."

Sir Marcus sighed and glanced behind Steph. A younger man with brown hair and dressed in dark green stepped off the board walk. Marcus nodded his head towards the crowd around them. "Owyn, find my lady's servant. Tell him the Countess is weary and must retire to her pavilion."

Owyn bowed without a word and left. Steph caught the look that Marcus leveled at the woman in front of him. Her smile slipped and was replaced by a disingenuous pout. Marcus didn't move.

The pout melted into an ugly scowl. "A pox on it. This is foolishness! The cow's not worth it."

With a last venomous look at Steph, Countess Harecote stormed off in the opposite direction. Sir Marcus watched her, then beckoned with his finger. A boy around Angie's age trotted up to him and waited.

"Follow her, Istvan. Make sure she does not stray. Return to the lists when her servant joins her."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and darted after the Countess.

Left with only the man who had come to her rescue, Steph cleared her throat nervously. "Um, thanks. I didn't mean to—"

He gave her a smile that rocked her back a pace with its drop dead sexy quotient. If Joe Morelli had a medieval ancestor, Sir Marcus would definitely be her pick as a candidate. His dark eyes were warm as he smiled at her and Angie. "No thanks are necessary, my ladies. I fear Felise thoroughly believes her own importance, and loves to impress people with it. She will not trouble you again."

He bowed to them and swiftly walked away. Steph stared after him, her mind sifting through a dozen things at a time and not coming up with anything concrete. Angie tugged on her sleeve and she glanced down. "Huh?"

"That was a knight, Aunt Steph," she whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. The countess called him 'sir', and his spurs were like what knights wear." Angie's eyes were wide with excitement, and Steph really couldn't blame her.

"So much for getting swept off my feet by a knight in shining armor," Steph quipped. Her Spidey sense wasn't kicking up a fuss, and she hadn't seen him give any indication that he knew who she was, so she decided to let it ride for now. Forcing herself to smile, she took Angie's hand.

"Mistress Clara said we should visit the fortune tellers. Want to check them out and then get some lunch?"

Angie consulted her map of the festival grounds. "If we go to the right, the map says the square is just past the printer's shop. The Pasty and Turkey Shoppe is beyond that."

Steph didn't have a clue what a pasty was, but she was willing to give it a chance. She let Angie set the pace and kept her eyes open for any sign of either mysterious knights or vindictive countesses. They trudged up a small hill and found the printer's in a ramshackle building. Angie took a few minutes to walk through the gallery, pointing out the different stages of making paper and some of the wood cut blocks. By the time they came out of the shop again, Steph's stomach was threatening to mutiny, and the sun was high overhead.

She looked longingly at a sandwich cart as they passed, but Angie tugged her hand and she hurried to catch up. They passed another performance group and turned a corner to find themselves in an open spot with brightly colored tents pitched beneath a ring of linden trees. Hand painted plywood signs propped beside the entrances displayed each fortune-teller's name and specialties. Little tables beside the signs groaned under the weight of rough cut stones and white bone beads as dream catchers twisted in the air above them.

As they walked down the row, some of the fortune-tellers called out with promises of readings about both life and love. Steph ignored them, her attention on the signs until she saw the one with _Mistress Salome_ stenciled neatly on it. This sign had some glitter and paste jewels glued to it in a swirling design that circled the name before ending in a curlicue beneath it. _Palms, Tarot and Tea Leaves Read_ was in smaller print at the very bottom.

"This is the one," said Steph as she stopped. There was no sign of anyone around the tent, and a solitary feather floated on a leather tie above the door. Hesitantly, Steph listened for voices inside, but there was nothing. She pulled aside the tent flap and took a step over the threshold as Angie followed close. "Hello?"

The inside was fairly roomy. A small table sat in the middle of the floor with a chair behind it, and several stools were lined up by the door. A broad column of sunlight flowed through the back of the tent where another flap had been tied open. Otherwise, the tent was empty, with no sign of the illustrious Mistress Salome.

"Hello?" asked Steph in a slight louder voice. "Is anyone here?"

"With you in a moment, dearling!" came a voice from outside. A short, dark-haired woman in a black dress walked around the back tent flap, her head bent over the laces she was tying on the side of her skirt. "In God's truth, those privies are a man's idea of purgatory. This dress in those tiny stalls is tantamount to shoehorning Palamon into a Prius."

Steph bit her lip to keep from laughing as the woman finished with the laces. Although she didn't have a clue who Palamon was, she did have complete sympathy for the gripe about the port-a-potties. Of course, after doing surveillance with the Merry Men, bushes weren't all that great either.

"Now, what do you seek? Love reading, destiny or—" The woman looked up and saw them for the first time. "Oh, _shit_."


	6. Chapter 5

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and sexual situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

Archaic _[Old English]: __**To Live. **_

CHAPTER FIVE

"_What_?" Steph blinked in shock.

The fortune teller shook her head, her dark blue eyes wide with dismay as she reached behind her for the chair. She leaned heavily on it as a shudder ran through her. The long strand of pearls around her neck swung slightly as she fought for composure, then she shook her head again as if to clear it.

"I beg your pardon," she said in a low voice. "I was not prepared for that."

"Mistress Clara said you might have some answers I need," said Steph. She started to add more, then stopped as she felt the first tendrils of fear wrapping around her heart. Answers were all fine and good, except when they were the wrong ones.

The woman laughed, the fine lines around her eyes deepening. "Ah, Mistress Clara. That explains much. But I am not Salome. I but keep watch on the booth while she rests. Poor woman is spent from the summer's work."

"Oh." Steph's heart sank a bit. "Well, we won't bother you. It really wasn't important—" 

"Yes, it is." The words were whispered, but they shot across the tent like an arrow sped from a bow. "I am Lady Estrella of Finncapall. It would be my honor and great pleasure to foretell your future."

Lady Estrella sank into the chair behind the table. She reached into a bag hanging from her belt and withdrew a large deck of cards. "Please, sit. I may not be a fortune teller here, but I have some small gifts."

Steph traded a glance with Angie, who shrugged. It didn't make sense to walk out, and she was curious in spite of herself. So she grabbed one of the stools while Angie dragged another one up to the table. Lady Estrella smiled at them and shuffled the cards.

"Think of a question, or allow your mind to drift. The cards will reflect whatever rests most in your thoughts."

"Okay," said Steph doubtfully. She watched the cards move back and forth, and tried to focus. But her mind spun between Ranger and Joe, her job and her mother, to the point that she couldn't settle on anything. _I just want to know what to do_, she thought desperately, then cringed when she saw the cards were still.

Her eyes flew up to meet Estrella's, and she saw the look of kindly sympathy as Estrella fanned the cards face down in a wide arc on the table.

"Choose six cards," said Estrella softly. "Think not, just choose with your heart's wisdom."

Hastily, Steph touched six cards at random and Estrella placed them in a tiered formation. One by one, she turned them over. With each card, her expression grew grimmer until the smile slipped completely from her face. Finally, Estrella covered her eyes with her hand.

"It can't be all bad, right?" asked Steph, trying to lighten the moment.

"Hemlock has better odds," Estrella said. She sighed and rested her chin on her hand as she glared at the cards. "Do not take gifts from strangers. Look both ways before crossing the street. Beware tall, dark men. Do not look a gift horse in the mouth."

Steph peered at the figures on the cards. They were very old and drawn in a thick dark ink that bled slightly on the edges. "That doesn't sound like any fortunes I've heard."

"They are courtesy of the Sight, not these." Estrella swept the cards back into the deck. "These are better left to the silence. A brave man would crawl into the tent's corner like a frightened child, were he to see these cards. That course of action would be very inconvenient for us all."

"Couldn't you come up with anything better than 'Beware tall, dark men'?" Steph asked.

Estrella lifted one shoulder in an offhanded shrug. "Changing the words will not change the future."

Steph studied Estrella for a long moment, trying to see if she would start laughing and admit to the joke. Estrella held her gaze steadily, her eyes open and honest. A tiny chill started to worm its way up her spine, and Steph clamped down on it hard. Maybe Ranger's excellent search programs would shed some light on the Lady of Finncapall, but until then she would have to go on instinct alone. She nodded and moved over so Angie could have her turn.

Estrella re-shuffled the deck and fanned it on the table. After Angie picked her cards, Estrella flipped them onto the table. As the cards landed face up, she peered at them. Her expression changed instantly as a smile broke onto her face and lit her eyes with laughter. "Oh, this is richly done. Perfect!"

"What? What does it say?" Angie leaned over the table, trying to read the images upside down.

"Oh, fear not, dearling," said Estrella quickly. "This fortune gives great pleasure in the telling. Adventures await you and new friends in new places. Your life will change for the better."

Angie's smile was equally brilliant. "When? Does it say when it's going to happen?"

"Soon, dearling. Very soon." Estrella patted her hand. "Keep those lovely eyes open. Opportunities abound in the unlikeliest of places."

Steph tried to keep her face blank, but her disappointment was too strong. Even a fortune teller who wasn't really one couldn't find anything encouraging about her future. _Just once,_ she thought wistfully. _Couldn't it be normal and sane just once?_

A warm hand closed around hers, and Estrella leaned forward slightly. "Stephanie, do not give in to despair. Your life is ever your choice."

"That's the problem," said Steph, sniffing back the tears welling in her eyes. She gave a watery laugh. "I always seem to choose wrong. I don't even know the questions that I want answered."

"I can give you but one," said Estrella. She held out her other hand, and Steph slid hers into it. "Close your eyes and look deep into your heart. Go past the cares and the worries of today, and seek out the very heart of your being."

Steph frowned and closed her eyes to concentrate on what Estrella said. She could hear echoes of her mother's voice and Joe's admonishments about her foolishness. Beyond that were the ugly, dark shadows of doubt and despair. They wrapped around her like a shroud and tightened until she couldn't breathe.

As she felt herself sink, something warm curled around her. It wove through the doubts and scoured them away with its touch. The last one faded and golden light pierced the darkness like the sun through a storm.

"_Long is the way, and long must thou wander_." The words vibrated along her nerve endings and spread them with fire. "_But long is love as well_."*

Steph opened her eyes. Estrella held both of her hands in a strong grip, her eyes focused on their joined hands as she drew in deep, ragged gasps of air. She took a last harsh breath and released her hold.

"Your pardon," she said, leaning back in her chair. Her fingers shook as she wiped moisture from the corner of her eye. "That was far to reach and it drains me."

"I don't understand what it means," said Steph. "How am I supposed to know what to do?"

Estrella shook her head. "Meaning is found in the years already spent. Live today, and waste not the hours regretting yesterday."

"I still don't get it," Steph said, her words sounding grumpy even to her ears. "What if you regret too much?"

"Put each regret to rest, one by one," Estrella softly answered. "Live each day in its own honor and find contentment in yesterdays well-lived. Make your choices, dearling, while the choices are still yours to make."

"Easier said than done," muttered Steph. "Besides, not choosing is a choice, too."

"Not one you want to live with," Estrella said grimly. The fortuneteller patted her hand. "Put aside your worries. 'Tis time for the noon meal. Honor me with your company, if you please."

Steph's stomach answered before she could. It rumbled loudly, and Steph pressed a hand against it to quiet the gurgle that followed. Her face flushed hot as Estrella smiled at her.

"That is a hearty _yes_," she said. "Lisbet! Haste, child!"

A girl near Angie's age came into the tent carrying a tray full of dishes. Her dark blonde hair was hung in a long braid down her back, and she wore a russet brown dress with a white apron. Her hazel eyes flicked over Steph and Angie before settling on Estrella. "Here, my lady. The pasties are from Master Benjamin's and the tartlets from his cousin's bake shop, just as you like them."

She set the tray onto the wooden table and started offloading platters of steaming meat pies, dishes of vegetables and a plate of frosted tarts. With deft grace, Lisbet set dishes and cutlery wrapped in linen napkins in front of them and tucked the empty tray under her arm.

"The wine and fruit juices cool in the ice water, my lady. What pleases you today?"

"A flagon of plum wine and the spiced cider for our young guest." Estrella shook out the white linen napkin and tucked it into her neckline to protect her dress. "Please, help yourselves while the food is hot. I will vouch for Master Benjamin's subtle skill."

Steph nodded to Angie and picked up the five-tined fork. Awkwardly, she speared a meat pie onto a plate and passed it to Angie before repeating the maneuver for herself. Estrella passed the vegetables and cut slices of bread for them, pointing out the butter in one small pot and marmalade in another.

The only sounds in the tent were the clink and scrape of the cutlery against the plates. Lisbet reappeared within minutes to pour the rich wine and set a tankard of the cider in front of Angie. Silently, she placed the flagon on the table and curtseyed before leaving again.

It wasn't until the plates were clean that Estrella broke the silence. "So tell me how your day goes at the Faire. Enjoying it?"

Angie spoke up, her excitement revived by the food. "It has been so awesome, Lady Estrella. We have dresses and are going to the Royal Feast!"

"Are you now? Perchance we may meet there. I host a table with my knight champion this week."

Steph reached into her purse and pulled out the tickets. She handed them across the table to Estrella. "Ah, yes. Fortune smiles upon you. Lord Gerhardus and his minstrel troupe always perform for the late seating. There will be lively dance tunes for your enjoyment."

"We don't know how to dance," said Steph hesitantly, quite certain her club moves weren't _de rigueur_ for the Middle Ages.

Estrella dismissed her concern with a shrug. "Pfft. The hosts guide you. Watch them and you will not go wrong. Do not let your fears spoil the pleasure."

"Oh." Steph swallowed her next protest, and mopped the last bit of gravy from her plate with a hunk of bread. She thought about the exquisite dress waiting back at Mistress Clara's. The way her life operated, it would be ruined beyond repair by night's end, in the most publicly humiliating manner possible.

"Fie, Stephanie," said Estrella firmly. Startled, Steph glanced up. "Enough with the fear. The present pain is more than what may never be. Do not drown in a cup of water."

"If you knew half the things that happen—" said Steph, bowing her head.

"If you knew but five things of me, you would not doubt what I say," Estrella answered. "And that does not need the Sight."

Before Steph could offer further protest, a shadow darkened the tent's back door. "Estrella? Are you here?"

"In the tent," answered Estrella in a slightly louder voice. The back flap moved, and Sir Marcus stepped inside. Seeing Angie and Steph, he stopped and bowed deeply.

"Your pardon, my ladies. I did not wish to interrupt paying customers."

"Not customers, Marcus. Friends." Estrella smiled at them before she turned to the knight. "What do you here? I thought to see you later."

"It is Palamon," said Sir Marcus with a grimace. "He grows restive and his disquiet spreads to the other horses."

Estrella blew out her breath in a sigh. "You will joust the afternoon session?"

"If you please. I will make haste."

She nodded. "Of course. I will be there—"

Estrella stopped as Sir Marcus held up a hand. He pointed towards the side of the tent, and Steph saw a large shadow moving along the canvas wall. Her eyes darted towards Estrella and saw her biting her lip to stifle her laughter. Sir Marcus's expression grew pained as the horse ambled to the back of the tent. There was a pause, then a large brown nose splashed with white poked through the open flap.

The horse hesitated, then shoved the rest of his head inside the tent. Large dark brown eyes blinked in the dimness, and a riot of wavy brown hair fell over his forehead to the middle of his face. His ears swiveled back as the horse saw the occupants of the tent staring at him, then pricked forward in a blatant attempt at an innocent expression.

Sir Marcus folded his arms over his chest. "You were to stay at the camp, Palamon."

Palamon shook his head and snorted softly. Marcus didn't relent. "This wandering is ill-conceived. The Faire does not allow you to stroll about as you please. What if you frightened the children?"

The horse blinked several times, but didn't answer. He gazed steadily at the knight with his big brown eyes and kept his ears forward. Steph had no experience with horses, but something about his expression was endearing, and she started to speak in his defense.

"He's very beautiful," said Angie softly, her words breaking the stillness.

Palamon bobbed his head and snorted. Sir Marcus glanced at her. "Would you like to pet him?" he asked.

"Oh, yes." Angie slipped off her stool and crossed the tent to stand beside the knight. Steph followed her, although she had second thoughts almost immediately. The sheer size of the horse was more impressive with each step closer; his feet were bigger than dessert plates and his head nearly half Angie's height. Palamon flicked his ears back as people walked by outside, but otherwise didn't move.

Marcus grabbed a handful of mane behind Palamon's ears. "Go ahead. He will behave."

Hesitantly, Angie walked up and touched her fingers to his nose where a slight tinge of pink showed on the white between his nostrils. When Palamon didn't stir, she grew bolder and put her whole hand on the same spot. "Oh, this is so soft. Aunt Steph, you have to feel this."

Steph eyed Palamon uncertainly. He stayed still except for the slight flaring of his nostrils, and she brushed her fingers over his skin. A small tingle flowed through her fingertips like an electrical current, and she paused. Palamon flinched slightly, then wrinkled his nose as his lips swung sideways towards her wrist.

"Stop that," Marcus said sharply. Palamon ignored him and curled his upper lip until he wrapped it around the top of her wrist. Something warm slid along the underside of her wrist and Steph yanked her hand away.

"What was that?" she asked, peering at the glistening skin. She looked around as Estrella smothered a laugh and saw Palamon flipping his tongue out and shaking his head.

"Your perfume is not to his taste," said Estrella.

"I don't think horses were the target market for Dolce Vita," Steph said, stepping back a bit as Palamon swung his head around. She stumbled as Angie bumped into her and then went around her. "What are you doing?"

"Helping him get the taste out," she said, holding her cupped hands under the horse's nose. "Here. This will help."

Palamon shook his head, then dipped his nose and blew softly at the amber liquid in Angie's hands. He touched his lips to the cider and took a sip. He rolled it around in his mouth, then swallowed before drinking the rest of it in loud slurps. Angie held still while the big horse sucked up the last drop. When he was done, she let him lick the juice off her hands and giggled as his tongue swiped over her skin.

Sir Marcus smoothed down Palamon's forelock. "Enough, nag. I will not vouch for your temper if you overindulge."

"It won't hurt him, will it?" asked Angie anxiously.

"No," Estrella said, "he has had worse by far with nothing but a hangover afterwards."

Steph saw an opening and casually edged closer to Marcus as Angie continued to play with Palamon. "I couldn't help but notice earlier that you looked familiar."

"In truth?" Marcus kept his gaze on Palamon as the horse nibbled delicately at Angie's hair.

Steph didn't back off. "Are you Italian? Because I would swear you look like a guy I know."

Marcus chuckled, then bit his lip and looked at the ground. "My family home is north of Rome."

"Do you have relatives here? Family that you visit from time to time?" Steph pressed harder, wanting to see what was under the surface. He didn't give off a dangerous vibe like the Merry Men, but something about him prodded her to keep digging.

"Nay. The whole family lives in Italy, in Rovigo. My grandsire settled there after his service to Sulla ended." Marcus turned that dark gaze on her, his eyes unreadable yet curiously warm with humor. "I am dead to them."

"I'm sorry," Steph said, shocked. Even in her dysfunctional family, excommunication was both horrible and unthinkable.

He shrugged. "I do not grieve. 'Twas a long time ago. I visit the old places at times, but it is no longer home."

"It's still awful." Steph shuddered, chilled by the thought of such loneliness.

"I live. That is enough." Marcus moved towards to Palamon. "Enough with the flirting, nag. Remember you are a warhorse and not a lapdog."

The horse blew a soft breath through Angie's hair. She laughed as the gust of air swept past her, and impulsively threw her arms around him. She stretched onto her toes trying to reach around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder.

"Thank you, Palamon," she whispered, just loud enough so Steph could hear. The horse rested his nose on her shoulder for a moment, then rubbed against her hard enough to knock her back a few steps. "Hey!"

Marcus caught her easily and set her upright. "I beg your pardon on behalf of my nag. He forgets his own strength."

"I don't mind," said Angie. She smiled up at the knight. "He's really just a big teddy bear."

Estrella smothered a laugh, deftly turning it into a cough. Marcus raised an eyebrow, but his smile didn't waver. "At times. But he is also a warhorse. Palamon has reflexes that can harm if he is taken unawares."

The horse snorted loudly and shook his head so his forelock fell into his eyes, but Marcus ignored him. Angie nodded. "I understand, Sir Marcus. My sister likes horses and I've read some of her books. May I see Palamon again before we leave?"

"For certain. Perchance after the jousting." Marcus flicked a finger at the horse. "Off with you. Return to camp before Owyn finds you here."

"Belike he is searching the Faire and muttering promises of dire retribution," Estrella said dryly. Steph was looking directly at Palamon, and she blinked as the horse rolled his eyes in a mute statement of opinion. Palamon didn't wait to be told again; he ducked his head and backed carefully out of the tent. His shadow showed plainly on the canvas as he cleared the door and ambled off in the direction he'd originally come.

Marcus sighed heavily. "His behavior is wretched. Other horses do not try their knights in such a fashion."

"Pfft," scoffed Estrella as she returned to her chair. "He saves your life more often than not. Do not sulk if he has his own manner of accomplishing it. Just remember to thank him when he does."

"Must you do that?" Marcus asked. He stood by the door, hands on his hips and wearing the pained expression again.

"Do what?"

"_That_," he said, his tone growing sharp.

She shrugged. "Whining will not help you."

"A fair warning would," Marcus snapped.

"Pfft," she repeated and settled into the chair. She draped her arms over the sides and let her fingers dangle loosely. "This tent has too few corners for everyone should I speak plainly of what comes. Trust me on that, if nothing else."

He sighed, and glanced at Steph. "Flee now, my lady, and perchance you will escape this mad fate."

"As well try to escape the air or the sunlight," Estrella said. When they both looked at her, she gave the one shoulder shrug. "Run from it or run towards it. Either way it will find you."

The sigh that escaped from Steph was in perfect unison with Marcus's. They traded looks and the amusement that crinkled the corners of his eyes brought a smile to her face. She held out a hand to Angie. "Let's see some more Faire. I guess if I'm that doomed, I might as well enjoy myself while it lasts."

Angie hesitated, plainly unsure about the tone in Steph's voice. Finally, she took Steph's hand and gave Estrella and Marcus a tiny finger wave. "Thank you, Lady Estrella, for telling my fortune. I hope we see you again."

"To be sure, you will," said Estrella with a faint smile. "Remember what I said. It will be of help to you very soon."

"I will," Angie promised.

Steph tried her own smile, but she wasn't having as much luck. Of course, it didn't sound like luck would be on her side for a long time. "Thank you as well, Lady Estrella. Even if it didn't work out."

Estrella made a shooing motion with her hand. "Enjoy the day and the sunshine. Night comes all too soon."

The words were cryptic as usual, and Steph firmly ignored the hair rising on the back of her neck. As Angie tugged her out of the tent, Steph glanced back and saw that Marcus had moved until he stood behind Estrella's chair. Both of them watched her somber expressions that made her even more uneasy. That elusive chill swept through her just as the sunshine blinded her outside.

They were well down the lane when Steph turned back again. The tents stood in perfect rows along the square and the trees cast their shadows across the ground. Then one of the shadows moved, and there was a flash of white that became a large brown horse with a white blaze. Palamon stood beneath the tree, watching them. He dipped his head once before fading back into the deeper shadows.

Feeling strangely reassured, Steph determinedly pushed her thoughts to the side and concentrated on the Faire in full swing around her.

Another broad street intersected the lane past the fortune-tellers, this one devoted to furniture-makers, rug merchants and blacksmiths. Sparks flying from a forge caught Angie's interest, and they stood in a crowd watching a smith by turns hammer out steel and stick it into the fire's coals until the metal glowed red. Several teen-aged boys scurried around the enclosure, pumping the bellows that kept the fire hot or fetching wood to feed its flames. All of them were bare-chested and sweating; when an eddy of air swirled the heat into the crowd, Steph took an instinctive step backwards to escape its searing touch. She watched with even more respect as the smith worked on his project and ignored the inferno burning next to him.

After a while they wandered on. The furniture shops didn't interest Steph enough to browse. Her apartment was more post-college eclectic than medieval, and the uncertainty of her life made an investment in better furniture foolish. Her interest picked up when they walked past the rug-merchants, however. The rich colors on the pieces drew her in and she was soon lost in the piles of woven art.

A sample tray near the back labeled _Westborne_ held a thick pile of rug pieces. She flipped through them with a practiced hand, occasionally stopping when a particular square caught her eye. As Steph smoothed a finger over a deep pile mosaic, she heard voices raised on the other side of the thin wall to her right. A hasty glance around showed Angie browsing through a hanging rack of tapestries, and none of the other customers within earshot. Steph sidled closer to the wall and pretended to be absolutely fascinated by the sample in front of her.

"—shipments in ordered stages. He simply _cannot_ demand the entire thing at once!"

"Tell Lord Ieldran yourself, if you dare," growled a deeper male voice. "He demands all and tonight. The Anìar have eyes everywhere, and they close in on the truth. My lord requires these goods. If you cannot deliver, then good fortune in explaining your failings to him."

"But m'lord, it takes time to find them and take them across!" the first man protested, his voice rising to a whine. "So many at one time will raise suspicion!"

"That is your problem. If my lord discovers you have shortchanged him, then expect him to exact the difference from your flesh."

A door creaked open and slammed shut with enough force to shake the entire building. In the silence that followed, Steph heard only the pained breathing of the other man and a quickly stifled sob.

She didn't stop to think. Steph walked quickly through the store and steered Angie out the door.

"Aunt Steph, where—"

"Don't ask," she said quietly. "I overheard something in the back room. If we hurry, we can follow the man who just left."

That was enough to stop the questions. They halted on the board walk and Steph scanned the crowd. A short, balding man wearing a dark green tunic with yellow trim came out of the alley between the shops. As he looked around, her Spidey sense went to full alert.

"That one," she said as he started walking away from them. Following him proved to be difficult in the crowd. Several times Steph thought she lost him, but then a flash of movement would catch her eye and she would sight him again. As they sped past the performers and shops, she had a moment of doubt that this was really worth pursuing. After all, it could have been an argument over rugs or furniture or—

The man stopped abruptly and turned around. His eyes met Steph's across the crowd, and he scowled at her. Before she could blink, he changed direction and ducked through an alley, moving with a swiftness designed to shake pursuit.

Again she followed, barely aware that Angie trotted beside her without complaint. The man wove through the people, and used the audiences gathered around performers to throw her off the trail. She lost him again near the Middle Eastern Folk Dance troupe, then saw him duck through the gate for the Faerie Woodland Maze.

She stopped cold. Mazes were not covered in the Bounty Hunter's Manual of Operations. Being lost in one while pursuing a bad guy was _really_ low on her list. She hesitated, then made her decision.

Leaning down, she stuffed her purse into Angie's arms. "He went into the maze. Stay out here and if I'm not back in fifteen minutes, I want you to hit speed dial 1 on my cell phone."

"I'm going with you," said Angie firmly. "You'll need me to get through it."

"You know how to solve a maze?" Steph asked as she started towards the entrance, anxious about losing the quarry.

Angie caught up with her. "There are ways through most of them. Since this is a Renaissance Faire, it might be a simple labyrinth."

Steph took her hand and held on tight. "Okay, but stay close. I'll watch the bad guy, and you tell me which way to turn."

She pushed against the gate, but it didn't budge. Setting herself, she shoved harder. It creaked painfully as it opened to reveal a short enclosed corridor that turned sharply to the left.

The gate swung shut behind them with a ponderous moan of wood and hinges. Steph flinched as the latch clicked home, then squared her shoulders and headed into the maze. Around the corner, the walls fell away to reveal a green woodland with heavy underbrush and a canopy of leaves overhead. A dirt path wound through the trees, and she heard voices floating through the air as other Faire goers explored the maze.

Movement ahead caught her eye, and Steph followed it like a hound to the scent. She saw a glimpse of the man through a thin spot in the underbrush, and almost plunged off the path to tackle him. Something held her back though, and she gritted her teeth against the urge and broke into a jog.

Several hundred yards from the entrance, the forest gave way to a glade beside a small lake. A short dock wound through the cattails around the shore, and a boat bobbed in the water at the end of the dock. Strong sunlight glinted off the lake's surface and Steph was forced to look away as her eyes teared from the brightness. She froze as she saw the short, balding man standing in the path less than forty feet away. His glare shot across the distance between them and stole her breath. Her heart stuttered, then skipped several beats as she tensed, waiting for him to make the next move.

As the moments passed and he still stood there, she reached out and pulled Angie behind her. "Aunt Steph!"

"Don't argue," she whispered, taking an instinctive step backwards.

"What?"

"If he takes one step towards us, run to the gate and scream as loud as you can." Steph didn't look away from him until Angie stumbled over a root. She glanced at her niece, then swung her eyes back to the man. And blinked at the empty path.

The leaves fluttered in the sudden breeze, their pattering like a thousand pixie feet on the dirt. Somewhere close by a bird twittered. The path stubbornly stayed empty, as if he'd vanished into thin air.

_No way,_ she thought. _No freaking way._

Her cell phone warbled from the depths of her purse. She rummaged around and flipped it open on the third ring. "Hello?"

The connection rasped and broke up. She heard Lester's voice faintly through the static. "Steph . . . report . . . location . . ."

Steph backed away from the glade towards the entrance, not caring if she went the wrong way in the maze. "Lester, I can barely hear you. Could you repeat that, please?"

As they turned the corner near the gate, the connection cleared. "Steph, can you hear me? Your tracker signal broke up. We lost you in the woods. Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear," said Steph, feeling the tiny knot of tension in her stomach loosen. "Reception was horrible back there."

Lester's sigh was audible. "The trackers weren't picking you up, either. They're satellite systems; terrain shouldn't block them. Hold by the gate until the teams reacquire you on visual."

"Sure, honey," said Steph as a group of people passed them. Her mind raced as she tried to make her voice cheery for anyone who might overhear. They went through the wooden corridor again and caught the gate as another couple came through. "Sorry I missed you at the lunch stand, but we wanted to check out the Woodland Maze and didn't think it would take so long."

"Keep talking," Lester said. She could hear a keyboard clicking in the background, and he made a satisfied noise. "Got it. You're back on our screens. Team Two has you on visual."

Steph held the gate for Angie and glanced around casually until she spotted Hal and Bobby loitering by the jugglers. She lowered her voice again. "I see them. Where's Ranger?"

"Offline. He's checking some leads in the performers' campground. I'll let him know you need to talk to him." Lester paused. "You're not hurt, right? You don't need extraction?"

"I'm fine. We're going to get some dessert and then watch the jousting. Thanks, Lester." Steph clicked off the phone and nodded discreetly to Hal as she put it into her purse. He nodded back and whispered something to Bobby, who flicked his eyes towards her and then looked away.

She chose the opposite direction from the rug merchants, and used her nose to follow tantalizing aromas born on the breeze. The pursuit made her hungry, and she wanted to find another bakery with the nut and honey confections. After the scare of losing their quarry, Steph was willing to splurge on some frosted tartlets as well. She had a mission, and it was to drown the shakes quivering through her in a deluge of sugar and good old-fashioned fat, and to do it before the jousting session.

As the crowds closed around them, the shadows by the Maze gate moved counter to the wind, and a flash of white showed briefly beneath the tall trees before fading into the darkness.

_***Quote from Groagaldr, Stanza 4**_


	7. Chapter 6

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and sexual situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

Archaic _[Old English]: __**To Live. **_

CHAPTER SIX

They found another bake shop further down the lane and Steph splurged on the nut and honey confection and some frosted tarts. She handed the tarts to Angie and balanced the tray of confections one handed to keep the other one free and close to her purse. After the scare in the woodland maze, she wasn't taking any chances of being surprised in the crowd. The people were shoulder to shoulder around the food stands, and the streets weren't much better.

Angie found a table in the lane between two of the shops. It had obviously been placed there for workers taking a break, but there was no one in sight so Steph set the confections down and plopped into the wooden chair with a sigh.

Taking the other chair, Angie set the tarts on the table and unrolled the plastic forks from the napkin bundles. She worked with methodical precision, placing a fork next to Steph's plate and folding the napkin beside it. After repeating the same maneuver for hers, she folded her hands on the table. "Are you all right, Aunt Steph?"

"I'm just a little rattled." Steph glanced around, but the lane seemed fairly deserted. A tiny prickle on the back of her neck meant that the Merry Men were still keeping watch, but she still didn't feel entirely safe. "Don't worry about it. We'll eat our tarts and sweets, and watch some jousting. It should be fun with Sir Marcus fighting, don't you think?"

"I hope Palamon doesn't get hurt," said Angie as she picked at the flaky crust of a tart. "I liked him."

Steph snorted and nearly choked on her mouthful of confection. After a flurry of coughs to clear her throat, she swallowed. "Don't tell anyone, but I liked him, too. Except when he was licking off my perfume."

"I don't think he'll do that again," Angie said with a giggle. She shared a smile with Steph before taking another bite of her tart. "Can we go a little early to the jousting? I'd like to get a good seat."

"Right on the 50 yard line," said Steph.

"Aunt Steph! They don't have 50 yard lines in jousting!"

She feigned confusion. "What do they have? Bases? Goals?"

"Lists," Angie said promptly, then laughed again when Steph's confusion became very real. "Not _those_ kind of lists. The enclosure where the knights joust is called _the lists_. Usually there is a barricade down the middle to keep the horses from swerving into each other. The knights ride each to a side and point their lances over the top of the barricade."

"Sounds complicated." Steph licked frosting off her fingers and wiped the rest on her jeans. "Good thing you came with today to explain all of these things to me."

"It's not that hard. A lot of High Chivalry uses the French terms. Some of the late Middle Ages rules adhered to very rigid and strict guidelines for proper behavior."

She shuddered, only half of it mocking. "Sounds worse than Sunday in the Burg."

"If a man didn't have family ties or a wealthy sponsor, he had to earn his reputation by deeds of arms." Angie finished her tart and wiped her lips with the napkin. "The tourneys were one way for them to catch the attention of a lord who would add them to his retinue."

"Pretty intense," said Steph. She brushed the crumbs off her lap. "Ready to go? We can do some more browsing and then head over to the _lists_." She emphasized the word and was rewarded by the answering twinkle in Angie's eyes.

After a detour to dispose of the trash, they wandered into the street proper. It was still early, so Steph wasn't in any particular hurry. As they window shopped down the lane, she caught glimpses of the RangeMan shadow team. Sometimes it would be Cal, studying a display of knives, or Ram lounging in the tattoo parlor watching the artist at work. Each little glimpse chased away the tendrils of fear that twined through her. The disappearance of her quarry in the maze spooked Steph more than she cared to admit. It also made her more determined than ever to find him again. _No one_ just vanished. There was a rational explanation for it; all she had to do was find it.

"My lady!" A juggler stepped in front of her, the bright balls whirling dangerously close. "Wilt thou grace this poor jongleur with thine aid?"

"Uh, no thanks," she said as she tried to sidle past. The man kept pace with her, walking sideways and weaving an intricate pattern in the air with the balls. "My lady, 'twill take no time at all! Please, have pity on a poor man!"

"Not right now," she said, and dodged into the crowd with Angie close on her heels. They passed a plywood sign announcing the performance times for _Marcellus the Magnificent, Jongleur Extraordinaire_ with a wooden bucket beside it. Steph peeled off a bill from her pile of spending money and dropped it into the bucket.

His faint "God bless you, my lady!" followed them down the street. Around the next corner, Stephanie slowed to a stop. A large wooden structure dominated the far end of the street; it rose above the surrounding shops and trees like a mythic monster from the waves of the sea. As they neared it, she could see the large wooden stands enclosing the wide green field. A heavy timber fence about four foot high ran down the middle the long way, and a large gate structure opened into the back area of the Faire on the farthest end.

The pennants on the covered stands snapped in the breeze. The smells of fried food, leather, metal and horse swirled around her. As her nostrils flared, she caught a tiny thread of something floral intertwined with the other smells. It was no more than a hint, like the barest fragrance of lilac born on a spring morning's golden light. Steph found a spot near the middle of the enclosure and rested her forearms on the top rail of the wooden fence.

Young men in medieval dress gathered under the gatehouse, gesturing towards the open field and talking. Several walked towards the back area while others started pulling on heavy leather tunics and gloves. Some strapped leather protectors over their legs and a leather cowl around their necks.

"What are they doing?" Steph whispered to Angie.

Her niece shook her head. "I don't know. This wasn't in any of the books or websites."

A hush fell over the lists as a man rode a light brown horse into the enclosure. One of the men wearing the protective gear followed him at a distance, swinging a long stick that looked heavy enough to do serious damage. The rider warmed up the horse by moving him through a series of loops and spirals; the ground squire stretched out like an athlete before a game, his eyes never leaving the horse. One of the other squires tossed another long stick to the rider as he passed the gate. The man caught it easily in mid-air and turned towards the ground squire, who pulled on a padded helmet.

Someone yelled "Go!" and the rider urged his horse into a gallop, aiming straight for the man on the ground.

Steph gripped the fence with both hands, hardly breathing as the horse sprang forward. Ten feet from colliding, the horse slowed until he was barely moving forward. His hooves churned the ground as he wove like a point guard on the attack, then he feinted hard right before sweeping left. The ground squire stumbled as the rider nailed him on the back with the pole; he went down on one knee and scrambled up to face the next charge.

The horse's ears pricked forward sharply as he watched his adversary with bright eyes. Again, he balanced as if on eggshells, feinting with his head and shoulders until the man over-committed and the horse spun past on the other side. The pole cracked hard against the ground squire's back again and he tumbled face first into the dirt.

"Well, that looks like fun," Steph muttered to Angie, and a dry laugh on her other side made her turn.

Marcus stood next to her, his arms draped over the top of the fence and his full-on smile making her heart beat faster. "Fun is what you make of it, my lady," he said. "The destrier training tests the skills the squires will need as knights. A fighting force is doubled in strength, if the knights be mounted on destriers. I have seen knights afoot carve through rank upon rank, and destriers defending fallen masters, fighting until they are overwhelmed and taken down."

"And the guy on the ground?" asked Steph, nodding towards the first victim who had slowly climbed to his feet and limped towards the gate. Another squire took his leather helmet and adjusted the fit as he took up his station.

"Even the best knight can be unhorsed in battle. If he can not defeat a destrier on foot, then he is not worthy of riding one." Marcus glanced at the group near the gate where more horse and rider pairs were gathering. "There are times in all of our lives, my lady, that demand the last drop of courage. The best we can do is be ready for it."

He nodded towards the gate. "Owyn has trained diligently these past four years. Soon he will render service in his own right."

Steph leaned over the top rail to look at the young man riding a brown horse with large white irregular patches splashed across his body. Leather protected the horse's eyes, throat and legs, while Owyn wore heavy leather gloves and chaps over his legs.

"What's he doing?" she asked as the squire rode into the field.

"A light cavalry charge," said Marcus, his eyes narrowed as he watched the squire. "The whole of the lists is in play. The barriers are the only neutral ground, if the foot soldier can reach them."

A very young squire hurried towards the man waiting for Owyn's first charge. There was a brief heated argument, then the man shrugged and started walking towards the gate, stripping out of his leather protectors.

"Why are they changing?" asked Steph, and found herself talking to empty air. She stared, open-mouthed, as Marcus stalked across the lists to the young squire. He waved off Owyn, who took his horse to the far end of the enclosure as the knight stopped three feet from the boy.

Their voices didn't carry over the grass, but Steph had plenty of experience reading Italian tempers. The boy flushed bright red as Marcus finished speaking, and said something that looked impertinent by the tilt of his head and the flashing in his eyes.

Sir Marcus didn't waste his breath. He grabbed the boy's collar and hauled him across the grass towards the fence. The boy stumbled, then regained his footing and trotted on tiptoe to keep pace with the knight's longer stride. Marcus grasped his belt and tossed him over the top rail like a sack of grain. He put a hand to the wood and vaulted over easily.

Marcus snapped his fingers at a page nearby. "Fetch Sir Henri immediately, with my apologies."

The page bobbed and ran in the direction of the back area. The boy on the ground whimpered, and Sir Marcus leaned over him. "Get up, Thomas. If you think to be a man, then learn the lesson. This is not a game. I will not bring your corpse before your lady mother and explain why you were overmatched."

When the boy didn't move, Sir Marcus sighed and looked skyward for a moment, then hauled him upright by the back of the collar. He dangled the boy off the ground before dropping him. Thomas stumbled, then straightened defiantly.

Silence settled over the group, with Steph and Angie standing to one side as Sir Marcus took up a parade rest stance and stared somewhere in the middle distance. In less than ten minutes, a blond-haired man of medium height jogged through the gate and headed towards them. He was puffing slightly by the time he reached them, the bangs on his forehead darkened with sweat. "What is the to-do here, Sir Marcus? Piers blathered some nonsense until I could make neither heads nor tails out of it."

"My apologies, Sir Henri, for disturbing your midday rest," Marcus said. "But it seems that young Thomas here remembers not the last time I removed him from training."

Sir Henri's expression hardened. "Who was he matched against?"

"Owyn, on Kilydd."

Henri's face darkened even more. "Thomas, attend my lady in camp. You are relieved of your duties."

"But, my lord—" The boy started to argue, but Marcus's hand settled on the back of his neck and he stopped abruptly.

"You will obey your knightly master," said Marcus in a soft voice that sent shivers down Steph's spine. "You will do so promptly or I swear on my horse's honor that I will see you live out your days attending a dowager lady in a cow-byre manor with a leaky roof. Am I clear?"

Thomas nodded sullenly, then swallowed and murmured, "Yes, m'lord Marcus."

"Go, and do not show your face at training until I give you leave." Marcus released him and watched with narrowed eyes as he trotted towards camp. Sir Henri stood by with his arms folded over his chest. He waited until Thomas was out of earshot before taking a step closer to Marcus.

"I would have left him in the fray," he said in a hard tone. "The boy thinks overmuch of his own skill, and will not learn except the hard way."

Marcus sighed. "The hard way spares no fools, Henri. He will either learn by watching and practice, or I will not have him in the meinie. I have no leisure to coddle him."

"You have it aright, as usual. But my lady will be ill-pleased to have his moping countenance bedeviling her for the rest of the Faire." Henri heaved a deeper sigh. "A pox upon my sister's husband for spoiling the boy and refusing to foster him. A good family would ha' seen his vapors cured ere now."

"We all must carry our burdens," said Marcus, a flash of amusement tingeing his voice.

Sir Henri favored him with a black look. "You laugh, Sir Marcus? Rumor whispers you joust today."

"Palamon grows restive without work," Marcus shot back. "Nothing else."

Henri slapped him on the shoulder with a smug grin. "Of course, of course. And the falcon deals naught but love taps to the hare."

He laughed at Marcus's expression and walked off, heading in the same direction as the chastised Thomas.

Sir Marcus had a rueful expression on his face as he took his place by the fence and Steph. "Your pardon, my ladies, that you witnessed that unpleasantness. It is not often we must correct our squires in such a public manner, but Thomas has been a trial with his preening."

"I—" Steph glanced back towards the gate and saw Sir Henri catch up with the Thomas. He grasped the young squire's ear to hurry him along like a schoolboy. "He seems a little immature to be out there, to tell you the truth."

"Our life brooks no delay in growing up, my lady. Thomas will learn or he will be assigned a place where his posturing can not endanger the lives of good men. Far better that he toil in obscurity than men with twice his skill die because of his folly."

Steph swallowed her instinctive retort. _It's only a game,_ she repeated to herself silently. The mantra didn't help, especially as she watched the first squire take up position again in mid-field. Owyn was watching Marcus and keeping his horse moving. When he saw Marcus nod, he guided the horse to the center and pointed him straight towards his opponent.

Owyn's horse sprang forward with a rush, his ears pricked forward and his nostrils distended. He snorted with every step, the exhale a sharp staccato in time to his stride. As the ground squire stepped into the attack, the horse slowed and then head-faked so solidly that Steph felt herself move with him.

The squire lunged and the horse spun away with cat-like grace. Owyn gauged the distance and brought his weapon around with the force of the pivot to knock the squire face-first into the grass. The horse cantered in a wide circle as the man picked himself off the ground, then arrowed straight in for the next attack before he was completely set.

As the lethal dance continued, Owyn's horse grew more aggressive with each pass. He pinned his ears tightly back against his neck, and he bared his teeth and snapped at the ground squire each time they engaged. As he evaded another attack, the horse lashed out with his hind foot towards the ground squire's knees.

Marcus went over the fence again as the squire threw himself sideways and Owyn yanked his horse away. The ground squire grabbed the wooden barrier and hung on, gulping in air as Marcus leaned over and spoke to him quietly. He glanced towards the far end where Owyn rode in tight circles and finally nodded his head. Marcus clapped him on the shoulder and went over to talk with Owyn.

This conversation was shouted. Marcus never moved closer than twenty feet to the horse, and he kept his gaze on it as he talked to his squire. The horse shook his head against the tight hold Owyn had on his mouth, and his ears swept back. Once he flung his head towards Marcus and snapped at the knight. The sharp click of his teeth was audible across the field, and Steph dug her fingers into the fence rail, her entire body tense.

Marcus said something else and Owyn glanced down the field before giving a sharp nod.

Two squires carried a dummy stuffed with straw to the middle of the lists. They drove a stake into the ground to hold the dummy upright and fastened it with leather ties. With a quick look at the far end, they hurried off the field. The ground squire joined Marcus near the fence, and both men watched as Owyn set his horse loose.

Thunder rolled beneath the horse's hooves as he flew over the ground. His teeth closed over the dummy's throat and he gave a swift jerk, snapping the whole thing off the stake. The dummy sailed through the air as the horse flung it away, then he was on it in the blink of an eye, pounding on the chest with his front feet as his teeth darted in to tear and rip.

Finally, Owyn pulled the horse away. Foam flecked the horse's sweat-darkened shoulders and neck, and his nostrils flared wide with every breath. Owyn stroked the horse's neck and murmured to him soothingly as he walked him on the far fence.

The ever-efficient squires cleaned up the mess that used to be the dummy, and another horse and rider walked into the lists. Owyn guided his horse through the gate and towards the campground as another ground squire prepared to meet a mounted attack.

Steph realized that she had been holding her breath, and she sagged against the fence, her heart beating hard. A wave of dizziness wept over her, and she closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. The simple and direct savagery of this training made it both too real and too personal, and Steph shivered.

She turned towards Angie and bounced off something very large and bony. As she held onto the fence to stay upright, Steph stared at the horse standing directly in front of her.

"What the hell?" she asked. Palamon bobbed his head and blinked slowly as he chewed delicately on his lower lip. Steph didn't buy the innocent act for a minute. "Sir Marcus told you to go back to the campground. You don't listen very well."

That didn't even merit a head bob or a blink. Angie nudged Steph. "I don't think he's going to listen to you, either. Maybe he wants something."

Steph rolled her eyes. No way was she playing Charades or Twenty Questions with a horse. "Did Timmy fall in the well?" she asked, then stepped back reflexively as Palamon snorted. It wasn't as frightening as when Owyn's horse did it, but as she looked down at the spatter marks on her shirt, she filed away for future reference a note on the large volume of mucus packed into one equine sneeze.

Without the tent to obscure half of his body, it was easy to appreciate Palamon's sheer size. His back hit just below her eye-level, and his muscled shoulders and hindquarters were simply massive. She moved to his side and hesitantly reached out to smooth the deep brown hair over his shoulder. His skin rippled away from her touch and she repeated the movement with more pressure. Palamon exhaled like a steam engine and his eyelids drooped.

"You're a big teddy bear," Steph whispered, stroking across his shoulder. "A big, overgrown, Grade A teddy bear."

Palamon didn't seem interested in protesting, especially when she didn't stop. Steph kneaded his large muscles with experienced fingers, finding just the right spots in need of attention. As she worked on a large knot just above the shoulder, Palamon heaved a deep sigh and dropped his nose almost to his knees.

Steph handed her purse to Angie to free up her hands. She couldn't reach the very top of Palamon's hindquarters without plastering herself against his massive legs and standing on tiptoe, but she covered every inch that she could. A glance towards his front end showed that Palamon was pretty much in a state of unmitigated bliss. His eyes were closed and his ears flopped over to the sides; his bottom lip quivered slightly as he inhaled deeply.

Steph smoothed her palms over his side, then impulsively leaned in and rested her cheek against the dark brown hair. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sun-warmed softness against her skin and breathing deep of the unique, musty scent of horse. A ripple of Palamon's skin passed underneath her cheek, and she felt the faint, powerful beat of his heart.

Calm flowed through her, easing away the turbulence and uncertainty that tossed her mind like a maelstrom. Her breathing slowed to match his, and she nestled her cheek closer.

"Aunt Steph?" asked Angie.

Reluctantly, Steph opened her eyes. "Yeah?"

"You're not going to sleep, are you?"

Steph shook her head and pushed herself upright. "No, I was just giving Palamon a hug for being such a big teddy bear," she said. "Could you hand me the phone?"

"Sure, Aunt Steph." Angie rummaged through the main compartment of the purse hung over her shoulder. She gave Palamon a kiss on the ridge of his nose and brought the cell phone to Steph. "Who are you calling?"

"Lula. Since I have to listen to her brag about her fine, big man, it's about time I do the same." Steph flipped open the phone and hit the speed dial. She listened to it ring, then switch over to voice mail. Steph's grin grew exponentially as she listened to the message, then waited for the beep.

"Hey, woman. Just thought I'd let you know I finally took your advice and found myself a very fine, very big guy. In fact, he's bigger than Tank. Talk to you later. Bye!"

She snapped the phone shut and slipped it into her pocket. Palamon turned his head to look at her, and she couldn't help laughing as she started to knead his shoulders again. "Don't worry about it, Palamon. I owe her for every bit of fuss she's going to kick up over that message. Turnabout is fair play."

He sighed and rested his chin on Angie's shoulder as his eyes slid shut again. There was an air of resignation about him that plainly said he wasn't looking forward to the trouble Steph was going to stir up, but Steph felt it was about time to issue a little bit of payback for Lula's persistent advice on her love life. If she could figure out a way to get Connie at the same time, she would do it in a heartbeat.

Her phone trilled less than a half minute later, and Steph checked the caller ID before answering. "Hey, Lula. Hope I didn't take you away from anything important."

"Important, hell! Ain't nothing more important than the news you're finally takin' my advice!" Lula said. "Spill, white girl. What's his name? What he look like?"

Steph tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder. "He's _very _good looking, dark-colored and built."

"You ain't talkin' about Ranger, are you?" Lula asked suspiciously.

"Nope, not Ranger. This guy is _much_ bigger than Tank. I think he could squash Tank if he put his mind to it."

"Ain't nobody big enough to squash Tank," said Lula.

"Palamon outweighs Tank by at least fifteen hundred pounds. He could probably sit on Tank and a couple more Merry Men without breaking a sweat." Steph enjoyed the stunned silence on the other end as Lula tried to put the pieces together.

She sputtered, then found her voice. "We talkin' human here, white girl? 'Cause he don't sound like it to me."

"He's a horse," said Steph. She walked up to Palamon's head and rubbed the hollow behind his ear. "Want to say hi to him?"

"I don't know what to say to a—"

Steph held the phone up to Palamon's ear and watched as it twitched. Then it swiveled forward before swinging back to lay flat along his neck. Steph snatched the phone away as his eyes snapped open and his nostrils flared.

"—You big, handsome hunka burnin' love."

"Lula!"

"What?" She huffed. "Don't be tellin' me he don't like that. Ain't no man don't love some of Lula's special talk."

Steph stepped away from Palamon as he repositioned his chin on Angie's shoulder. Angie laid her cheek against his jaw and stroked the long line of his nose. "His ears went back and he looked grumpy. So don't say that to a horse again unless you want to get kicked."

"Yeah, well don't get my undies in a bunch tellin' me you found yourself a real man," said Lula. She paused. "You havin' fun out there, Steph? Tank said you were helpin' out with surveillance at the Renaissance Faire, but he didn't think there would be much goin' on."

"I'm not bored, if that's what you're asking. Angie is hanging with me, and we're about to watch some jousting. Then we're eating at the King's Feast tonight before heading home."

Lula made an approving sound. "Too bad you don't have a pretty dress for that, white girl. I'd like to see you gussied up like those ladies and showin' 'em how a real woman works it."

"I'll remember everything you taught me," said Steph, trying not to laugh at the thought of Lula in medieval dress. No amount of material or flashy jewelry could ever disguise Lula. She was a woman so forcefully herself that clothes couldn't hide her personality. "Hey, why don't we—"

Something shoved her violently. The phone flew out of her grasp and she instinctively pulled into a protective ball as the fence shattered above her. Wood splinters rained against her back and arms like a violent hail. Before the last splinter hit the ground, Steph rolled onto her hands and knees, searching for Angie. She froze when she saw her niece a few feet away, then started to breathe again when Angie stirred.

"What happened?" Angie asked. "Where's Palamon?"

An unearthly scream tore through the air as the ground trembled beneath them. Steph crawled towards Angie, her only coherent thought to somehow place herself between her niece and danger. As she wrapped her arms around Angie, she glanced at the gaping hole in the fence.

Another scream pulled her attention to the lists. Palamon slammed his shoulder into the horse and rider just as the horse's teeth closed around the throat of the ground squire. The horse stumbled badly as his rider tried to keep him upright, then went down, throwing his rider clear. At the same time, the ground squire spun out of the horse's hold and crashed into the barrier. He crumpled to the ground perilously close to the flailing horse and was still.

"Oh my God," Steph whispered, her arms tightening around Angie. Palamon skidded to a halt and spun in a tight circle to stay between the downed horse and the unconscious squire. His ears were flattened against his head and his eyes blazed. "Angie, stay here. Don't move!"

Steph scrambled through the fence and ran across the lists. She was vaguely aware of shouts and people running from the gate, but her entire attention was focused on the ground squire. She slid to her knees beside him and her breath caught at the dark red stain spreading across his chest. With shaking hands, Steph fumbled at the knots and eased the leather throat protector off young Thomas.

A breeze rushed past her head, and Steph glanced up blankly to see Palamon standing nearly above her. He faced towards the gate, and his ears were pinned against his neck as he snapped at the air with his teeth. The squires rushing towards her skidded to a stop well outside of his reach, their eyes watchful as the large horse shook his head and refused to back away.

Some of the squires inched around her to reach the fallen horse and rider. The rest formed a loose semi-circle and moved only when Palamon feinted in their direction. The big horse squealed angrily and snorted.

A movement to her right caught her attention. Steph's eyes widened as she met Ranger's dark gaze. He stood with the other squires, dressed in a deep forest green tunic and black breeches. His hair was braided back in a style she'd never seen before, but it accentuated the angles of his achingly beautiful face. Even though he was perfectly still, there was a coiled tension to his stance that meant he was ready to spring.

"Do not move." The squire beside him grabbed his shoulder. "Palamon can kill you."

Ranger lifted the shoulder, shrugging off the hand as he kept his eyes on Steph. Palamon squealed again, and one of his hooves slammed into the ground next to her ankle.

The squire glanced around. "Where is Sir Marcus?"

"Coming," another one said, his gaze fixed on Palamon. "Istvan fetched him."

Silence fell over the group, and Steph self-consciously lowered her gaze. She could see where the horse's teeth had ravaged Thomas's throat and shoulder; the collarbone no longer ran in a straight line on the right side and his shoulder was twisted at the wrong angle.

"My lady, how does he?" asked a squire with a badge like the one Thomas wore. "Does he live?"

She didn't want to touch the ruin that was his throat, but she could see the pulse beating plainly on the side of his neck. "He's still breathing," Steph said in a quiet voice, ever mindful of the massive horse standing above her. "I can see a pulse, too."

"God be praised," the man whispered. "Do you think—"

Palamon bared his teeth and the squire next to Ranger threw an arm across his chest. Ranger glanced down at the offending limb and Steph knew the next second would see the man unconscious or worse.

"_Palamon_! Stand down!"

Sir Marcus vaulted over the fence and strode into the semi-circle of squires. He leveled a glare at his horse, who shook his head and blew air through his nostrils.

"No arguments. Back off. _Now_."

Grudgingly, Palamon dipped his head and eased a few steps back. Steph could still feel his breath against her neck; she forced herself to ignore it as Marcus knelt beside her and checked Thomas over quickly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have been paying attention to—"

"Not your fault," said Marcus. He motioned to the squires; one ran towards the gate where a golf cart with a large red cross on its hood trundled across the grass. "I should have banished him the first time he disobeyed. He is fortunate Palamon was near to save the young fool from his own arrogance."

"Is he going to be all right?" Steph asked. She moved out of the way as the EMTs grabbed their kits from the back of the golf cart and hurried over.

Marcus made room for them. He climbed to his feet and extended a hand to Steph. As he easily pulled her upright, she saw that Ranger was helping get the other horse to his feet. He glanced at her as the squires coaxed the horse up and she could feel his question arrowing across the space separating them. She gave a tight little nod and saw him slowly nod in return.

Unaware of the interchange, Marcus guided her away from the press, and stopped next to Palamon. The horse stood still, his attention divided between Thomas and the other horse. "It will take time to heal the injuries. His mother can have two weeks to coddle him. Once he is banished from the duchy, she will not see him again. Damages to Alain or his horse will be levied against his father's holdings."

"That's rather harsh," Steph said tentatively. She could feel the anger boiling off Marcus, but his voice was even and low, and his stance relaxed. "Isn't sending him home enough punishment?"

"He disobeyed both his lord knight and me. If we had been in battle, his behavior would merit death." Now the anger showed in Marcus' voice. His expression hardened as the EMTs finished putting a neck collar on the boy and carefully slid a backboard underneath him. "Actions have consequences in our world. Mercy is dealt but rarely."

Steph shivered a little and rubbed her arms to ward off the goose pimples. Marcus wordlessly slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, lending her warmth. An ambulance drove onto the field and they watched as the emergency personnel transferred Thomas to the gurney. The squire whose badge matched the one Thomas wore talked to the EMTs and they gestured for him to climb into the back for the ride to the hospital.

A sigh escaped Marcus as the ambulance headed out of the lists. The other horse was on his feet now, and trying to hobble forward. He held his right front foot off the ground and refused to put weight on it. His rider knelt to run gentle hands over the ankle joint and spoke a few quiet words to the nearest squire. The word passed between the others in the group, and a roll of bandages was handed to him within minutes. He quickly bandaged the horse's leg and the walk forward was tried again, with better results. By the time the ambulance rolled out of the enclosure, the horse was nearly to the gates and the rest of the squires were cleaning up the lists for the afternoon jousting.

Marcus sighed again. "Palamon, with me. We need to arm ourselves if we wish to make a proper entrance for the jousting."

The horse slid sideways until he pressed against Steph. Gone was the raging demon that breathed fire and dealt death with teeth and hooves. Palamon was back to being the overgrown teddy bear and comical goof with an independent streak a Jersey Girl could envy.

Steph rested her cheek against his side for a moment before giving him a nudge. When he didn't move, she shook her head. "I think he'd rather go back to his massage," she said.

"He should have planned ahead this morning," said Marcus. He gave Palamon a hearty shove to the hindquarters that tipped him slightly off balance. "Off with you, nag. You take longer to don the gear."

Palamon threw a disgusted look at his knight and shook his head, but when Marcus didn't relent he heaved a horse-sized sigh and ambled towards the gate. Steph watched as he took his sweet time getting there, his posture proclaiming to one and all that Palamon was being coerced into carting a knight around the lists and would rather be sleeping in the sun.

"I should probably get back to Angie," she said. "We need to find a good seat for the jousting."

Marcus gave her a half-smile. "Sit near the middle on this side. 'Twill give you the best vantage point. "

"Vantage point to see more people being torn to pieces for fun?" asked Steph drily. "I don't understand why the horses need this training. No one uses it any more, and it's silly to do something just because our ancestors did."

When Marcus looked at her, she was surprised to see a twinkle of humor in his dark eyes. "Palamon has saved my life more often than I can count, as Estrella reminded me. We do it for necessity, not tradition. Our world does not indulge the ill-prepared for very long."

Steph straightened and folded her arms across her chest. "It's not the real world. Accountants don't need horses trained to kill."

"A soldier does," Marcus said, "and I am a soldier."

"Your rules don't belong in the real world." Steph knew she sounded petulant and, even worse, like a carbon copy of her mother. But his calm façade drove her nuts, and she wanted him to break out of character long enough to explain what was going on. _Something_ was; her spider sense could read it like a headline on the front page of the Chambersburg Gazette.

Marcus shrugged. "I changed worlds. New world . . . new rules."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He swept her an abrupt bow without answering and strode off in the wake of his horse, leaving Steph to stare after him with her mouth slightly open. She shut it with a snap, and debated the wisdom of continuing the argument. Something told her that Marcus was definitely not Joe, and trying to match wits with him wouldn't end in a classic Burg-approved Italian manner.

Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands, and Steph spun on her heel and stormed towards the fence. A maintenance crew in T-shirts and blue jeans had already set the splintered rail to one side. They were gathering up the rest of the pieces from the ground while they waited for the new rail to arrive. Steph muttered a quick apology as she squeezed through the opening.

Angie sat on one of the straw bales nearby, holding Steph's purse and the pieces of her cell phone. She held them up as Steph approached. "I'm sorry, Aunt Steph. I tried to put them together again, but they won't stay."

Taking the pieces from her, Steph turned them over in her hands. The cover had snapped off at the hinges, and the battery housing was cracked. She jiggled the battery in the compartment, pressing the edges together in hopes that it would yield a little juice. The keypad flickered, and the screen popped up, then flickered and went out again.

She dropped the cell phone remains into the outside compartment of her purse. "Don't worry about it. Pity the warranty doesn't cover being stomped flat by a medieval war horse."

"What are you going to do?" asked Angie. Worry shone in her eyes, and Steph sat next to her to give her a one-armed squeeze.

"We are going to watch the jousting. Marcus said a spot near the middle is best." She glanced at the bleachers rising behind them and pointed to an empty place halfway up. "How about there?"

Angie craned her neck to assess the sight lines, then nodded. "That looks awesome. We should be able to see everything!"

"What are we waiting for?" Steph held out her hand and grinned as Angie slid hers into it. As they climbed the wide stairs, Steph watched the activity in their immediate vicinity. There were more people trickling into the seating area with each passing minute.

Some were families with young children, and each had either a little girl wearing a gilt princess crown or a tow-headed boy waving a short wooden sword and endangering everyone within reach. Teen-aged boys sat in groups well away from the adults, ogling girls who strutted by in barely-there shorts and tiny tank tops or horse-playing when there wasn't any fair game close by.

She watched the people as inconspicuously as possible, wondering what world they longed for and whether it resembled the world where Marcus played. Her own fancies were shattered like the fence Palamon demolished. The flash of armor and flare of gold was nothing more than a distraction from the blood and punishing work. It was no better than the grey reality of her own life, and the shining dream was ashes.

Her thoughts spiraled inwards as she stared across the sunlit enclosure, deaf to the crowd around them. She knew Angie was watching the people as well, but her thoughts were obviously in a happier place. She smiled as brightly costumed actors took seats in the bleachers, and her eyes were bright with interest.

A vendor walked in front of the stands, waving a thick booklet. "Programmes! Git yer programmes! Can't cheer fer yer loyal knight and true wit' out yer programmes!"

Even before Angie turned to Steph with the question in her eyes, Steph was peeling off a twenty and stuffing it into her hand. As Angie skipped down the steps, someone sat down in the space next to her. Turning, she met Bobby's dark eyes and felt her own widen in surprise.

"Don't say anything," he said in a casual tone as he nodded and started rummaging through the packages he set between his feet. Dazed, Steph glanced away and pretended to watch Angie make her way up the stairs, the jousting program clutched in both hands.

"What's going on?" she asked in a whisper, trying not to move her lips.

He pulled out a square of neon orange silk gauze and hastily shoved it to the bottom of the original sack. "Just checking in with you, Bombshell. Tank didn't like the disappearing act in the labyrinth. He wants your version of what happened so we can send a team in."

"You haven't talked to Ranger yet?" she asked. "But I just saw him—"

Bobby shook his head. "We can't break his cover. He'll get word to us when it's safe, but until then Tank is in charge."

Steph started to answer, then broke off as Angie rejoined them. "Hey, Angie."

Angie's gaze flicked from Steph to the very large man sitting next to her. Even though Bobby wasn't the biggest of the Merry Men, he could still put out a seriously lethal vibe if he so chose. As he slouched against the bleachers like a big cat in the sun, there was something inherently dangerous about his calm demeanor.

"Angie, this is Bobby Brown. He's one of Ranger's men working with us today."

Angie nodded and sat down close to Steph's other side. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Brown."

"Pleasure's mine, Angie. Ooh, is that a program?" Angie handed it over to him, and he flipped through the pages. "Steph, slide over here like you're talking to me about it and tell me what happened in the labyrinth."

As she obeyed, she couldn't help the quick glance around. Even under the sunshine and blue sky, it was like a shadow had fallen over the entire Faire. The bright colors were dimmed, the laughter forced and shrill. Steph shivered as a chill swept over her.

"It's okay, Steph. Nothing's going to hurt you while we're on the job," said Bobby. His voice was pitched low, for her ears only, but it held a conviction that pushed back the fear.

She gave him a tight smile. "I know that. There's just something going on that is making my spidey sense go nuts. Have you guys found anything in your walkarounds?"

"A _lot_ of Goth teen girls. They swarmed Lester like you wouldn't believe. I'd think the fan girls would be latching onto the knights, but this is utterly insane," he said as he flipped through the booklet.

Steph shook her head, thinking that she couldn't really blame any teen girls for wanting a piece of a knight. Or, at least, a piece of the fantasy the knights here were peddling. "I overheard two men in a shop talking about a shipment being moved up to tonight. The vendor said he couldn't do it, and the other guy threatened him. We tried to follow the second guy when he left the shop, but he disappeared in the middle of the maze."

"You lost him?" asked Bobby. "I went through the maze after the shift change. It would be fairly easy to go off the path into that underbrush."

"I only looked away for a second. There should have been some noise or _something_."

"Depends on how good this guy is, and whether he's ex-military or not." Bobby paused in his page flipping. "Huh, that's weird."

"What?" Steph looked over his shoulder and saw that he had paused at the page listing the knights for the jousting tournaments.

He pointed to a short paragraph in the bio section. "This guy's name. I'm not an expert, but he missed the Middle Ages by about a thousand years."

She followed his finger and her forehead wrinkled into a frown. "Marcus Ver-ver . ." Steph trailed off.

"Marcus Vergilius Cassianus," Angie said from beside her. "Riding Palamon as Champion for the Duchy of Westborne."

Bobby glanced around Steph. "None of the others have Latin names."

"The medieval knighthood concept as we know it arose during the reign of Charlemagne, well after the fall of the Roman Empire. The Roman style of naming would have died out with the Empire, to be replaced by the more familiar northern European identification systems." Angie shrank inside of herself as Bobby stared at her in astonishment. Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "The name is not in keeping with medieval naming practices."

"Have you met Marcus?" asked Steph. "Or does Ranger usually handle the contacts himself?"

"What? Oh, you mean Mark. Yeah, Ranger's done all the legwork on that. Guess the guy was a little spooked about the job." Bobby shrugged. "Really odd. The man finally coughed up this gig for Ranger today, but insisted on being completely out of the loop. He's been fanatical about keeping things quiet, but he's practically painted the target on himself. Going off-period is totally weird."

Steph couldn't help the snort of laughter. "Weird doesn't even begin to cover it. His horse has a mind of his own and his lady moonlights as a psychic. I hope Ranger is paying him well."

"Ranger _always _pays well." Bobby flipped through more pages. "You met them on Fortuneteller's Row, right?"

"Yeah, the dressmaker thought I could find some answers about Life from Mistress Salome. But she was on break and Lady Estrella was filling in." Steph stared across the lists and noticed that the royal box was filling with lords and ladies in elaborate finery. "At least we got lunch out of it. The tarts were really good."

"Never go to fortunetellers or psychics. They're either completely off the mark or so cryptic you can't figure out what they're trying to say." Bobby paged through the program booklet until he reached the end, then handed it back to Angie. "Keep it. We'll use it to run background checks on the jousting troupe to see if they come up clean."

Angie took the booklet and settled into her place on the other side of Steph. For her part, Steph rubbed at the back of her neck and rolled her shoulders. She was getting a horrible crawling feeling between her shoulder blades, like someone was staring at her. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she glanced around the lists. The ground squires were still waiting by the gate, and she caught her breath as Ranger met her gaze across the wide open space.

Beside her, Bobby started laughing quietly. "Looks like Lester lost the pool today. He thought the Boss would be moonlighting as a juggler."

"He could probably pull it off." Steph watched as Ranger picked up an armload of lances and carried them to the far end of the lists. His utter economy of motion and lethal grace were enough to make her heart beat faster, and she looked away, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

A movement caught her eye. She half-turned as a hand settled on her shoulder and an electrical shock raced through her body.

Lady Estrella favored her with a faint smile and a slightly raised eyebrow as she dropped the hand. "Dearling, I had no idea you would move so speedily to confront your destiny. You are indeed a most formidable opponent even against Fate's heavy hand."

She settled next to Angie as Lisbet took the seat one row below her. Steph blinked, well aware that she was staring, and once again tried to kick start her brain. Estrella reached across Angie and patted her knee. "Worry not, dear Stephanie. When you turn your will to this purpose, even Fate shall bow before your strength of heart."

"Lady Estrella, I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Pay close attention then, dearling," said Estrella, her eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "If you wish to see, much can be revealed."


	8. Chapter 7

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and sexual situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. __. My heartfelt thanks to SueB for her feedback and encouragement. Oh, and her limitless patience for waiting as long as she does for each chapter!_

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

Archaic _[Old English]: __**To Live. **_

CHAPTER SEVEN

Steph started to answer, but a flourish of trumpets cut her off. Everyone turned towards the center of the lists, where an older man in brocaded finery escorted a blonde woman wearing an ornate deep wine-colored dress into the largest box. Estrella and Lisbet rose to their feet with the other medieval people in the audience with a spattering of polite applause. The new arrivals acknowledged the crowd with a wave as they seated themselves in the pair of large chairs set near the elevated rail. Other people in costume filled out the rest of the seating areas, their satins and silks a blaze of peacock color to contrast against the green grass and blue sky. Another trumpet call echoed through the lists and a tall, thin man walked to the middle of the lists.

He raised his hands for silence, then swept a low bow to the royal box. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Mid Coast Renaissance Faire would like to welcome you to this afternoon's full contact joust between the Knights of Agincourt and the Knights of Poitiers. Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mathilde presides over the royal loge and is escorted by Lord Francis Hatton. Welcome Her Majesty to the lists if you will."

The spectators applauded, obviously impatient for what yet lay hidden beyond the gate. The herald didn't make them wait.

"The knights and their steeds are prepared for battle. Here are your champions, people of New Jersey!"

The applause grew to cheers as the horses burst into the lists. The lead knight held a large spear with a banner tied near its tip. The device on it flashed silver and gold in the sunlight as the dark green material rippled with the force of the horse's gait. Five other knights followed behind him in single file. As they completed their first circuit past the royal box, a squire standing near the herald held up a sign that read "The Knights of Poitiers". He turned in a small circle so everyone could read it, then moved to hang it on the right side of the royal loge. He gave the Queen a low bow and scampered back to his place.

Angie opened her program and tried to match the symbols next to the names with the ones on the knights' shields and banners. Estrella leaned in close to her and pointed out some of the names, whispering in a low tone as she explained the names and the meaning behind the devices.

Steph only half-listened to the conversations around her. She heard Bobby ask some questions as he played the part of an innocent bystander who was curious about the jousting. Unerringly, her eyes went to the far corner of the lists and saw Ranger standing slightly apart from the other squires, his arms crossed as he waited. The other squires watched the Knights of Poitiers warm up their horses and kept well out of the way as the warsteeds moved around the open expanse at both a trot and a canter.

The warm up lasted only five minutes, then the Knights of Poitiers went out, leaving the lists empty once more. The crowd hushed expectantly as another squire held up a sign for the Knights of Agincourt. There was a moment of utter stillness, then a clear neigh rang through the lists, and Palamon charged through the gate.

A thrill shot up her spine as the sun flashed silver hot off the destrier's burnished armor. The amiable teddy bear was gone, replaced by a creature of centuries past. The midnight blue saddle cloth embroidered with sparkling gems and the brilliant silver-white barding transformed him into a fantastical vision brought to terrifying life for an afternoon's entertainment. A partial champron protected his face and cheeks, while a segmented criniere attached to the breastplate to protect his neck. Another section of armor covered his hindquarters and flashed with every stride he took.

Marcus rode with an ease and nonchalance that bespoke a fair amount of experience. He held the staff for the Agincourt pennant in his right hand as the destrier thundered around the lists. The banner rippled in the wind created by their movement and revealed three white waves cresting on a midnight blue background beneath a single star. Brilliants sewn into the images flared in the sunlight like beacons, and the waves danced upon the cloth.

Steph only half-listened to the conversation between Angie and Estrella. As Marcus turned Palamon towards the near end, she squinted slightly to read the letters on the shield hanging from his saddle.

"S . . . P . . . Q . . . R," she said aloud. "What does that stand for?"

"_Senatus Populusque Romanus_," said Angie, looking up from her program. "It's Latin."

"Your aunt didn't bring her decoder ring," Steph said as she rubbed at the sudden sharp pain in her temple. "What's the translation?"

Surprisingly, it was Estrella who answered. "The Senate and the People of Rome, dearling. The legions carried it as a reminder of the twin powers of the Roman Republic."

"Isn't he about a thousand years off target?" Steph shifted so she was facing towards Estrella. "I thought this was supposed to be medieval."

"Sir Marcus carries the standard by right. His name is his own." Estrella glanced at Lisbet and the corners of her eyes crinkled with amusement. "There are many things demanded of our warriors, but their names are not one of them."

"But what—"

"Lady Finncapall! Yoo hoo!" A heavy set woman paused with one foot on the lowest step of the bleachers and fluttered her hand in their general direction. "Lady Estrella!"

Estrella heaved a tiny sigh then smiled, lifting an answering hand. "Lady Wainhill! How fare you?"

The woman bustled up the steps, puffing as she did so. Her plump cheeks were shiny with sweat and flushed as she settled next to Lisbet, and her veil hung slightly askew over one ear. "Oh, Lady Estrella! I am simply distraught over this problem with Thomas! My sweet lord sped off to tend the lad and left me in a right pother!"

"I am sure Thomas will be just fine," said Estrella soothingly.

"Oh, not when I have finished with him," said Lady Wainhill with irritation. She flipped open a massive fan of dark wood and deep blue fabric webbing. "He is naught but a thorn pricking my heel at every turn. He haunts the armory and bedevils the smiths, but will not take his duty with the other squires. Then at every meal he sends the maids into fits of giggles with his posing and preening fit to give ev'ry mincing courtier pause. 'Tis high time he be chastised for his airs."

Estrella ducked her head to one side and Steph saw her eyes twinkle for a moment before she smoothed her expression into one of polite agreement. "Dosia, the sentiments do you little credit. Mayhap the boy is seriously wounded."

"And peradventure he would be whole if he but possessed the brains of a gnat," Lady Wainhill snapped. She flipped her hand. "Enough. Sir Henri will see him rightly home, no doubt. 'Tis for certain my lord's sister and husband will beg largesse from us, once the fines are levied. Welladay! No use trying to stuff a pig into a corset. It only annoys the pig."

Steph followed the conversation with difficulty, not understanding half of what Lady Wainhill said. Angie didn't seem to have that problem. She was shaking with suppressed mirth and hiding her face in her program. Even Bobby coughed several times to disguise his laughter. Whatever else Lady Wainhill might be, discreet and reserved were not part of it. She plowed through the conversation like a barge under full sail with a freshening wind.

"Lady Estrella, I beg of you one question." Lady Wainhill sobered, her heaving bosom still as she lowered her chin with the determination of a charging bull. "I prithee, tell me Meredon does not joust this day. My lord cannot survive another passage of arms like Long Beach."

"Meredon will not joust. An errand for the Duchy prevents it for the next fortnight."

A massive sigh gusted from Lady Wainhill, and she resumed fanning herself vigorously. "God be praised in His mercy. I could not endure another tournament and my sweet lord's groans of pain. He did not rest for three days, so great was his hurt!"

Estrella tilted her head to one side. "Mayhap if he kept his seat, the injury would have been less. The stroke that felled him was not a mighty one."

"I will not jest, Lady Finncapall. You know as well as I that Meredon is a danger in the lists. His Grace the Duke should forbid it!" Lady Wainhill nodded her head sharply in emphasis.

"My lady," said Estrella softly. Her good humor vanished with frightening speed. "You speak ill of our liege lord's heir. Meredon is Meredon, and you know right well what events shaped it thus. Those same skills you rail against will ward us well in the years to come. Think you the Wælfel would dare the Earl's fury?"

There was a moment of silence as the two women gazed at each other. Estrella's face did not change, but Lady Wainhill glanced away.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Finncapall. I misspoke myself." She turned back towards the lists, then made an angry, huffing sound. "And if this day bore not enough insult, must I also suffer this? Will there be no relief from that woman?"

Steph followed her eyes to the royal box and shuddered as Countess Felisse of Harecote seated herself in a chair at the Queen's left hand. The countess had changed into an even more ornately embroidered dress, this one of deep red velvet with forest green inset panels. Gold thread picked out a pattern of flowers and lattice work across the front of the bodice. A stiff white lace collar framed her face and her hair ornaments flashed in the sunlight with the hard glitter of costly jewels.

"The countess enjoys the privileges her lord husband's family bestows upon her," Estrella said mildly. "We should not envy what she has managed to purchase with her looks and talent."

Lady Wainhill snapped her fan up as she made a face that definitely echoed Steph's opinion of the Countess. "So you say, Lady Estrella. 'Tis certain that Meredon would keep Harecote tightly leashed. Not even her ladyship would cross the Earl."

Estrella noticed Steph's questioning glance. "The Earl of Meredon is a formidable fighter, and over ready to draw both swords. The Countess has dared but once to stir up trouble and will not repeat _that_ mistake."

"Only the bravest and most foolish provoke Meredon to wrath," Lady Wainhill said. She tapped her fan against Stephanie's knee. "The vendetta wrought this change long past, but I well remember when—"

A loud roar from the crowd drowned out the rest of what she was saying. A Poitiers knight sent his horse at a canter towards a large melon impaled on a pole. His sword flashed silver in the afternoon sun, and the melon slid apart on the diagonal, the halves falling to the ground with twin thuds.

A chill crept through her as the Poitiers knight returned to his side of the lists. Ground squires ran out to replace the melon with a head of lettuce, and an Agincourt knight drew his great sword from the sheath hanging at his saddle bow and urged his horse forward.

"You are quiet, Stephanie," Estrella said. She glanced at the lists. "Perhaps you do not see vegetables and an afternoon's sport? A shadow lies on your countenance, and I do not know how I may lift it from your heart."

"It's nothing." Steph sighed. She noticed that she had been wringing her hands, and she forced herself to stop.

Estrella reached across Angie and placed her hand on top of Steph's. "Dearling, I have said that you can see what lies ahead of you, if only you will it so. This despair shutters your eyes until you are blind and deaf to what beckons you onward."

"Onward to what? I can't escape what everyone expects of me, and maybe it's time I stop fighting it. Maybe the only thing I'm really good for is marrying the man my mother approves of and having his children while I cook his dinner every night and greet him at the door with a kiss." She watched as the Agincourt knight made his run and hit the lettuce with a double blow, the sunlight flaring white hot on the blade. "Maybe it's time to put away the childhood fantasy and grow up."

"Dearling," said Estrella, then stopped. She laughed softly as she shook her head. "Stephanie, growing up is an admirable goal, but it does not mean shrinking your world to fit the narrow definition of another's expectations. Sometimes it means reaching for that which you never thought you would grasp. Or grasping that which you never knew was there."

"It's not mine to have," Steph said simply. The ground squires cleared the lists of the mutilated vegetables, and the knights on both sides busied themselves either lacing on their jousting helms with the large plumes or checking girths and lacings. Ranger held an armful of the wooden lances as several other squires distributed them to the first jousters. He didn't turn around or glance in her direction, and Steph blinked against the moisture threatening to overspill her eyes.

Bobby nudged her foot and she gave him a tight smile before turning back to Estrella only to find herself pinned by the other woman's intent stare. Her blue eyes were cold and unyielding like a winter's soul-piercing wind.

"Stephanie," she said, her tone edged with steel, "do not delude yourself. Life finds us whether we will it or no. At least have courage enough to live."

Steph couldn't find a good answer. She was trapped in the maelstrom of Estrella's gaze and she started to sink ever deeper into the mesmerizing blue.

"Be still my ever-beating heart!" exclaimed Lady Wainhill. She snapped her fan open and used it with a vigorous flip of her wrist. "Where in the Wastelands did Sir Marcus find such a handsome squire?"

The spell shattered and Steph drew a shaky breath as Estrella turned away. Lady Wainhill watched Ranger move to the end of the lists as the first pair of knights squared off for their run. "My dear Lady Finncapall, how can you bear to gaze upon so lovely a man day after day? In sooth, if he fights as well as he looks, I would steal Henri's best sword and steed to join the meinie!"

"You are married, Dosia," Estrella said firmly.

"But I am not dead," Lady Wainhill retorted. She shook her head. "Ah, what paradise 'twould be to catch his eye!"

A roar went up from the bleachers as the herald gave the signal for the start of the jousting. The horses leapt forward from opposite ends of the lists, their hooves digging into the turf and throwing clods of dirt and grass into the air. The thunder of the hooves rolled through the ground as the lances were leveled and the distance between the destriers vanished. There was a moment of breathless pause, then a soul-shaking crash as the lances splintered against the shields.

"Well hit!" Lady Wainhill clapped with the others, her face animated with interest. "Did you see that? Sir Peter is more skilled by far than half the knights at His Majesty's Court. That little twist he gives t'the lance right before it hits—'tis fearful difficult to hold if the point is off but an inch, but a fair hit to the shield can pry th' other knight from the deepest saddle, I trow."

She tapped Angie on the knee. "Watch how each knight makes his run. Learn the finer points in jousting. Many a maiden has been dazzled by a man's fiery destrier and let his technique hang, and just as many find the man beneath the armor dull of both wits and spirit the day after the wedding vows are said."

"So in other words, the flashing armor and snorting horses are nothing but a dream, and the reality is just as drab and depressing as the rest of our lives." Steph didn't take her eyes off the lists, even though she knew Estrella was watching her.

Lady Wainhill's fan cracked against her shin. "Fie, young mistress! Such a philosophy! Has not the sun risen? Does it not shine above your head brighter than all the world's gold? What imprisons your eyes, that you see only dreariness and grey?"

"Just seeing what's real," muttered Steph, rubbing her leg to take the sting out. However jolly and fun-loving she might appear, Lady Wainhill wielded a mean fan. She was pretty sure there was going to be a bruise there by nightfall, if not an outright dent. "Can you tell me that, at the end of the day, these guys don't take off the armor, sit their asses in a comfortable chair and turn into ordinary, average men?"

Estrella and Lady Wainhill exchanged a long glance, then Estrella shook her head. "I would not dream of speaking for the whole of men. Tell me, Stephanie, is this the world you want or the one you think you deserve?"

Steph froze as Estrella looked past her to the lists. She didn't dare follow her gaze; she knew that the other woman was staring straight at Ranger, and there wasn't an ounce of softness in her eyes.

"Dearling, I think you have walked among warriors enough to know them. The question that lies with you is whether you wish to walk in their world forever."

Another roar went up from the crowd as a different pair of knights squared off. A glance at the crude scoreboard showed the Knights of Poitiers slightly ahead in points. This time the Agincourt knight splintered his lance while his opponent missed completely. The chief herald watched the royal box, and when the lord escorting the Queen nodded, he adjusted the tally by hand.

The knights trotted their steeds back to their respective corners and re-armed. Ranger held the lance for the Agincourt knight while a squire adjusted the lacings on his helmet. The knight took the lance and settled it into his grip. Another squire gripped the reins below the bit and turned the horse to face down the lists. The chief herald raised his arm, and as it dropped the two horses leaped forward again.

This time, even Steph saw the twist of the Agincourt knight's lance hand. His weapon bent slightly on impact, then exploded into splinters as the Poitiers knight jerked backwards and somersaulted over his horse's tail to land face down and unmoving.

The Poitiers squires sprinted across the lists to the fallen knight. His horse galloped towards the Agincourt end and the squires there held up their hands to stop him. It was unnerving to see them face a ton of rushing horseflesh, but the horse slowed and finally halted, waiting quietly until a squire took the reins and led it back to the Poitiers side.

With painful slowness, the knight rolled to his stomach. The squires steadied him as he got his feet under him and eased to a standing position. He lifted a hand to acknowledge the polite applause and nearly overbalanced. His horse was brought to the mounting block, and he crawled into the saddle with the tentativeness of a man not quite certain how much he actually hurt.

Lady Wainhill nodded sagely. "Aye, Sir Kai will be feeling that one for a fortnight. Samradh breeds his sons tougher if he makes another pass."

"Sir Marcus stayed with Bowen a month last year to train the Fenditch garrison," said Estrella. "The levies had been failing, and Westborne could not afford the loss of fighters. The men cursed every one of his names by the first week. But when he left, most could keep their seats in the first passage at arms."

"A blessing upon Sir Marcus and his sense of duty, then. He tests the mettle of our best men and refines them like a master smith." Lady Wainhill nodded again, her shrewd eyes missing nothing as the knights lined up again. "I am exceedingly pleased that he finally hearkened to the Duke's plea that he rest. I said to Henri the very same thing. 'Henri', I said, 'that young man will work himself to an early grave if he does not rest. Then where will we be?'"

Estrella shook her head. "Sir Marcus but understands the urgency of the times. If he were in danger of overtaxing his strength, Palamon would be sure to render his opinion."

The squires aligned the horses with the lists again. The chief herald briefly explained about concessions of honor that are granted when a knight suffered too much injury to continue. The knights released their horses, but this time the destriers trotted slowly towards each other. Their riders lifted the lances in salute as they passed to polite applause. When the knights returned to their group, Sir Kai was helped from the saddle and delivered to the emergency crew waiting by the fence.

A movement to her right caught Steph's attention. Bobby pressed his finger to the earpiece nestled in his ear, then glanced at her. He raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, shrugged and leaned down to grab his packages. He excused himself as he edged past the people between him and the aisle, then was gone. Bewildered, Steph glanced around, wondering if the rest of the RangeMan crew had been pulled. She relaxed slightly when she saw Ram near the gate and Junior eating popcorn in the middle of the Poitiers supporters.

Questions crowded her mind, but she wasn't ready to blow her cover by asking them. Instead she settled herself onto the hard wooden bleachers, resigned to watching the rest of the jousting even though she heartily wished the entire afternoon over. Estrella's questions hit too close to the bone, and the answers she kept coming up with weren't helping her mood any. Her future seemed inevitable, written irrevocably in stone. She couldn't change anything, and all of her twisting and turning wasn't going to free her of it.

Lady Wainhill exclaimed in disgust. "The French pox smite the woman! If only Meredon were here to remind her of her place!"

Estrella leaned forward, her hand resting on her friend's shoulder. She followed Lady Wainhill's line of sight, then sighed deeply. "Dosia, wish not overmuch for one thing to do your bidding. For certainty, Meredon would bend to your will once and never again."

"That for both empty wishes and smiling vixens!" said Lady Wainhill, snapping her fingers before flipping open her fan with an angry gesture. "_Why_ must Felise dangle her bait for every man who catches her eye?"

Steph glanced up and watched as the Countess dismissed a hovering servant with a short sentence and flick of her hand. The young lad bowed deeply and raced down the steps of the loge, heading with a determined expression toward the Agincourt end of the list.

The page spoke to the nearest squire, who barely acknowledged him. The young boy said something else, and the squire glanced at the loge. He swept a low bow to Countess Harecote, who acknowledged it with a faint smile and a tiny nod, then headed towards Ranger. Steph knew without a doubt what the errand was, and how it would play out. The only question was how far Ranger would carry the charade to get the information he wanted.

"God in His mercy!" said Estrella suddenly. She motioned to Lisbet. "Quickly, child. I forgot to bestow my favor upon Sir Marcus. Hurry! Bid him hither with all haste."

Lisbet flew down the stairs as Estrella took a gauzy silver scarf from her belt purse and shook it out to remove the wrinkles. Steph leaned towards Angie. "What's going on?"

"Most knights joust in honor of their lady," said Angie, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "They wear a token from their lady's hand as a sign that they fight in the tournament for her glory."

"So Sir Marcus forgot his colors?" Steph watched as Lisbet halted by the fence and called to the Agincourt squires. Owyn left the group and jogged towards her. After a brief conversation, he glanced at the stands where Estrella sat, then shrugged and nodded. With a last word to Lisbet, he rejoined the other squires. It was obvious when he relayed the message; all eyes turned their way, and Steph barely kept from squirming as those looks bounced from Estrella to her.

As some of the knights also started looking at their little group, she wished the bleachers were open so she could slide through the slats and hide underneath them. But wishes were horses, or at least destriers, and no help at all.

Owyn threaded through the waiting knights to Sir Marcus. He leaned down to listen, then straightened and swung Palamon around to face the bleachers. Estrella met his gaze and calmly flicked her scarf between her fingers so it puffed and skittered with the motion.

Palamon shook his head, but Marcus gave him a stern nudge with his heels and the large horse trotted to their side of the lists. As he stopped Palamon parallel to the fence, Marcus took off his helmet and held it against his plate-armored thigh.

"My lady Finncapall!" he said, in a voice meant to carry. "I would crave a favor of yours to prove to one and all I fight for your honor."

The scarf made a perfect arc as it landed in Steph's lap.

"Go on, Stephanie," said Estrella. "Grant Sir Marcus your favor."

"But I—" She stopped, then tried again. "It's supposed to be you, not me!"

"Are you refusing the greatest knight in our realm?" Estrella was relentless even as the hint of a smile played around the corners of her mouth. There was no mistaking the twinkle in her eyes, the merry light of a summer star.

"I can't!"

Estrella gently touched Steph's arm. "Do you give up so easily, Stephanie? Are you so weak of heart?"

"But I—" Steph said again, then bit her lip. Everyone was staring at her; she could feel the weight of their eyes. A ripple of laughter spread through the audience.

Her fingers went around the scarf, crushing it into a ball. Without looking at Estrella, she squeezed past Angie and into the aisle. Marcus waited for her by the fence, and each step she took towards him was like dragging her feet through thick, wet cement.

Unsteadily, Steph descended the stairs and crossed the short grassy space to the fence. She stared up at Marcus, suddenly unsure as to how she was supposed to do this. No one included granting favors to knights in any of the research from RangeMan. Or at least not in any of the research she actually bothered to read.

"My lady?"

Owyn swung lightly over the fence. He offered her his hand. "I'll help you," he said in a low voice, "so you can tie the scarf around Sir Marcus' arm."

"Oh! Uh, okay." Steph placed her right hand in his and tensed as Owyn grasped her firmly by the elbow. He lifted her up so she could climb the fence with relative ease and some grace. Once she reached the top plank, he let go of her hand but kept a steady grip on her elbow, just in case.

Being at eye level with Marcus didn't quiet the butterflies in her stomach. His dark eyes watched her with the careful wariness that reminded her too much of Ranger. For a moment the world spun around her and Steph closed her eyes, hoping that she wouldn't embarrass herself by passing out. A buzzing rose in her ears until she couldn't hear the sound of the crowd's voices. A sharp, dry smell filled her nostrils as her stomach gave a warning quiver.

Steph swayed, feeling the moment of free fall when she reached the tipping point. As she started to topple over, a warm puff of air skimmed across her face and she gasped. The world swirled around her again and she felt Owyn's fingers dig into her arm.

"My lady?" Marcus asked, and his voice snapped her back to reality with an electric jolt she felt all the way through the soles of her shoes. Steph stood in the sunlight, wincing at the fierce brightness and staring stupidly at the knight as her brain scrambled to focus.

"Huh?" Steph blinked hard and made a hasty grab for the scarf as it threatened to flutter out of her grasp. She looked around at the sea of expectant faces, and then shook her head to clear it as she turned back to Marcus.

Palamon stood heart-stoppingly close to the fence, pressing Marcus' leg against the boards with each indrawn breath. Steph's knee brushed his shoulder as she tentatively rested her hand on the pommel of the saddle. The smooth leather slid against her skin as she braced her weight on it.

"My lady, this is but a simple thing."

Steph glared at Marcus. "Why me? I'm perfectly fine sitting in the stands in comfortable obscurity."

"You are not meant for genteel anonymity, my lady," he said, his expression one of amusement and resignation. "Not with your spirit and will to carry the fight."

"Leave the damn fortune-telling to Lady Estrella. She's much better at it."

Marcus laughed softly. "I am no psychic. I know what I see, and I know what I know. Tie the favor around my arm, and let us be done with it. Command me as you see fit and I will serve you, which is more of a threat than usual."

With fumbling fingers that nearly lost the scarf too many times for comfort, Steph wrapped it around the armor on his upper arm and then tied it into a lopsided bow.

"Will that do?" she asked uncertainly.

He peered at it. "It will do. Well done, my lady. My thanks."

Steph flexed her knees and hopped down, wonderfully grateful for Owyn's hand on her arm. Without him to steady her, she probably would have wound up draped across Palamon's neck and still fumbling with the damn scarf. Now all she needed to do was get back to her seat without landing on her butt . . .

"My lady!" called Marcus. He smiled at her as she turned around. "I beseech you to grant me your full favor. Bless this knight who is about to fight for your honor!"

Puzzled, Steph glanced at Owyn to find the squire barely choking back laughter. He half-turned from her in a poor attempt to spare her dignity. Steph lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes as she stepped in close to the fence.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded in a low voice.

His cheeky grin did nothing to soothe her frazzled nerves. "A kiss, my lady. 'Tis customary to grant a knight one kiss as a part of your favor."

She gave him a Defcon Two Level Death Glare, but it bounced right off his polished armor and thick head. "I'm not kissing you."

"You would deny me this small favor? I'm about to face death for you," he said.

"I. Am. Not. Kissing. You." Steph forgot about the audience, forgot about how big Palamon was and stepped in closer so Marcus wouldn't miss a single word. "Not a chance in hell."

"Stephanie," he said softly, dropping his chin to look down at her. "Why do you fight against where your destiny is taking you? Reach for it, and take hold with both hands."

Steph glanced away from him, debating the wisdom of walking off and leaving him cold. Palamon turned his head and breathed against her face, the exhale hot and moist. A movement across the lists caught her eye, and she watched Countess Harecote's page talking to Ranger. The boy held out something that dangled from a chain, and Ranger took it after a moment's hesitation. He looked at it for a long moment, then vaulted the fence and followed the page to the loge. As the Countess leaned over the edge of the box, she smiled sweetly at him, and a hesitant smile spread across Ranger's face.

"Stephanie, stop stalling. Stiffen your spine and do what is expected of you for once."

_Red flag, meet enraged bull. Bull, meet red flag._

The shiver that passed over her had nothing to do with fear or creepy watchers. Heat rose through her and flooded into her brain.

"I don't think I heard you correctly," she said, her voice low. "Try again."

"You heard me. Fighting against your true path gains you nothing."

Steph's hands shook as she clenched them into fists at her side. "Fine. Just remember you asked for it."

Before he could say one more word, Steph grabbed the leather cheek straps of Palamon's bridle, hauled the startled horse around and laid a scorching kiss square on his nose.

As she released the bridle, she glared at Marcus. "You want that kiss, get it from your horse."

Without waiting for a reply, Steph started back for the bleachers. She hadn't taken more than a step when she heard three things at once: a whisper of movement by the fence, the crowd's collective gasp and Owyn's fervent "Oh, _shit_". As Steph turned around, a shadow fell over her and her eyes tracked up to Palamon's considerable bulk rearing skyward, his front legs tucked tightly against his body.

One of his massive hooves lashed out, and Steph tripped as she scrambled out of the way. Her butt hit the ground with enough force to rattle her teeth. Palamon neighed and went up again, shaking his head as his plate armor crashed like cymbals.

Marcus cursed as he fumbled with his helmet and the reins. Palamon bounced in a couple of half-rears, the air puffing out from his nostrils in great clouds of steam. As Steph rolled to her hands and knees, she watched the destrier rocket across the lists with a thunderous stride.

Owyn helped her up. He was watching Palamon as well, his expression worried as Marcus jammed the helmet onto his head and gathered up the reins to guide Palamon away from the squires.

"My lady, perhaps you should return to your seat," he suggested, then muttered a curse as a squire handed Marcus a lance. "No, you lack wits! Don't—"

He dropped her arm so suddenly that Steph staggered and nearly went down again. She teetered, then painfully righted herself. Owyn cleared the fence and sprinted towards the destrier, yelling something as Palamon went up again.

A roar erupted from the crowd, underscored by Palamon's neigh. He catapulted down the lists like a runaway steam locomotive. His opponent kicked his horse as well, but the horse hesitated and jumped sideways before flinging himself into a weak run. Palamon dug into the ground and sent clods flying, his nostrils flared. He snorted again, his head nodding as he accelerated even more. There was a moment of agonizing breathlessness as the two horses neared; Steph flinched hard as Marcus squarely hit the other knight and lifted him off his horse.

Airborne, the Poitiers knight had no control over his trajectory. He cleared the hindquarters of the horse and plowed into a cluster of squires, his heavily armored body felling the entire group. The cheers from the audience cut off with the suddenness of absolute shock.

Marcus dropped his shattered lance and grabbed the reins with both hands as Palamon exploded in a frenzy of switchbacks and bucks that carried him towards the fence where Steph stood. He spun in a tight circle, throwing his head sideways as he kicked out with his back feet. Clods of dirt flew around Steph like a hard rain, and the Agincourt squires scrambled towards the out of control destrier. They approached him warily, ready to jump out of the way if he bolted. As the destrier kicked out again, one squire dodged the hooves with panther-like swiftness and grabbed his bridle.

The warhorse screamed with rage. He twisted around, throwing Sir Marcus sideways. The knight grabbed for the saddle, but inertia carried him past the point of recovery. He hit the ground rolling, away from the destrier's hooves. Palamon rampaged across the list with the one squire still clinging to his bridle as he tried to avoid the lethal hooves that sought to bring him down.

Steph's mouth went dry. She didn't need to see his face or his clothes to know who challenged death so decisively. In that first glance, she knew him. When he had left Countess Felise and re-entered the lists, she didn't know, but watching Ranger wrestle with Palamon made her wish desperately he had stayed safely in the royal box.

The fight covered the entire green expanse. Ranger held on as Palamon tossed him around with frightening ease; the destrier strained to grab onto anything within reach, and every time Ranger shifted enough for the strike to miss. Each failure enraged Palamon even more. He screamed again and reared, dragging Ranger off his feet in a terrifying display of raw power.

Ranger kept his grip on the bridle, even as Palamon stayed upright for an unnaturally long time, balancing on his hind legs in a brutal contest of physical strength. Finally, the warhorse tired enough to drop to all four legs. As soon as his own feet touched the ground, Ranger took one hand off the bridle and clamped strong fingers around Palamon's windpipe.

The battle shifted in the blink of an eye. Whereas Palamon had been fighting to free himself of Ranger's restraining hold, now he fought for breath itself. He threw himself at the ground, seeking to crush his adversary under his weight, but once again Ranger evaded him. Palamon scrambled to his feet, striking and biting, trying to break the death grip.

Just when it seemed that Palamon would finally go down from lack of air, the warhorse scored a glancing blow with his front hoof against Ranger's leg. His fingers loosened enough for Palamon to suck in a lungful of air, and the destrier seized the opening.

He threw his body sideways, then abruptly switched directions to ram Ranger with his shoulder. Before he could recover, Palamon went in with teeth and forefeet, battering with wicked, lightning strikes that forced Ranger back by sheer volume alone.

With unearthly speed, Palamon grabbed Ranger's shoulder and threw him to the ground hard. The warhorse rose to his full height and balanced for a moment before starting his descent, his front hooves driving straight for Ranger's head and the kill.


	9. Chapter 8

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and sexual situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. _

_To continue to be sure or firm; endure. _

Archaic _[Old English]: __**To Live. **_

CHAPTER EIGHT

Steph froze, suspended between terror and cold certainty. The scream that tore her heart to shreds never made it past the terror choking her throat. One hand reached out to Ranger, impotent and futile, even as her feet treacherously stayed rooted.

Palamon's hooves drove into the ground on either side of Ranger's head. The destrier's head lowered until he locked gazes with the prone man only inches from death, and Palamon snorted softly, his teeth bared and gleaming.

Ranger didn't flinch. He lay on the ground, completely at the mercy of a ton of horseflesh, and he matched Palamon with a dark gaze that would not back down. Neither one moved.

Slowly, Palamon stepped back, his eyes never leaving Ranger's. A ripple of sound ran through the crowd as the squires hurried forward to corral the destrier. As the noise rose, Palamon deliberately turned away from Ranger and ambled towards the Agincourt side, his saddle askew and his reins trailing.

The destrier stopped beside Sir Marcus. Palamon fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere in the middle distance, away from the fuss and noise; only the play of his ears belied his outward indifference.

Steph sagged against the fence, her head throbbing as she struggled to drag air into her paralyzed lungs. Her exhale was a choked sob as she watched Ranger almost go down when he put weight on his injured leg. A squire caught his arm, and Ranger allowed the man to help him towards the Agincourt side of the lists.

Gentle fingers slid under her elbow, and she silently accepted Estrella's urging. As she moved away from the fence, she risked a glance at the Lady of Finncapall. Estrella shook her head slowly, her expression somber.

"This is my fault," Steph said miserably. "If I had just done what I was supposed to, Palamon would have never gone crazy like that."

Estrella held up a finger to stop her. "Stephanie, the fault is most certainly not yours. You have no control over the exuberance of a horse who has never been kissed. Palamon is Palamon, and some things are inevitable, no matter how we would wish the outcome differently."

"All of my outcomes are bad," she muttered, watching as Ranger sank to the ground by the far fence. Sir Marcus spoke in a low voice to him and he shook his head sharply. Ranger winced as a senior squire eased the collar of his tunic back to reveal the deep purple marks of Palamon's teeth.

"God in His Heaven!" exclaimed Lady Wainhill as she stepped off the bleachers. "We could identify the nag's dead body from that imprint alone. In truth 'tis but fortune that he didn't take the man's throat!"

Estrella shot a glance at Steph. "Not helping, Dosia," she said firmly.

Lady Wainhill took the hint and went back to fanning herself, but the damage was done. Steph knew it was her fault. Her stupidity almost killed Ranger—_again_—and she had again succeeded in publicly humiliating herself.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. A small hand slide into hers, and Steph looked down to see Angie giving her a tremulous smile.

"Aunt Steph, I think you did great. I can't wait to tell Kelsie about it. It was just like the stories about the tournaments."

"Thanks, Angie," said Steph, struggling to match her niece's smile with one of her own. "But somehow I think this might be a new one for the history books."

"Epic is not everything one would wish," Estrella said in a dry tone. She sighed softly, but didn't elaborate. There was a set to her mouth that spoke of someone trying very hard not to lose her temper, but by the way she stared hard at the group of Agincourt knights across the lists, it was a near thing.

Sir Marcus caught her gaze and said something to Ranger before heading in their direction. He moved slower than normal, and Steph could only figure that his Palamon-assisted dismount hadn't been a pleasant experience.

The knight stopped short of the fence. "We have a problem, my lady."

"A full ton, I believe." Estrella met his gaze with a steady one of her own. "He has surpassed himself this time."

"Not that. Gallus is here." Marcus dropped his voice a couple notches and moved a little closer. "Henri spotted him near the loge."

"The fool overreaches himself if he believes himself safe from justice here," Estrella said softly.

Marcus nodded. "Arrogance is his downfall. Command me, my lady. How would you have this play out?"

"I must talk to my uncle," said Estrella. She sighed. "For certain we cannot manage this alone. Warn everyone to be careful until this can be sorted. We cannot afford any incidents."

He bowed carefully, and without a word went back to the Agincourt knights. A curt word from Marcus sent Istvan ducking through the fence rails and sprinting towards the camp. The knights formed a semi-circle around him as he spoke, and more than a few glances were sent towards Estrella.

The Lady of Finncapall exhaled slowly. "Welladay. I suppose I must see the Seneschal to offer a pledge for the damages here. 'tis certain I shall exact the price from a certain brown hide before all is done."

"Better you than His Grace," said Lady Wainhill.

"Palamon does not dare talk back to _me_," Estrella said firmly. She turned to Stephanie. "Dearling, please join us at the table for the King's Feast tonight. I would do right by you and Angie by showing you the extent of Westborne hospitality."

Staying at the Faire held little appeal to Steph at the moment. Between her shattered cell phone and the knowledge that she had screwed up again, she wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep until she was sure this was all a bad dream. But Estrella's expression said she wasn't accepting that as an answer.

"Uh, yeah," Steph said. "We'd love to."

Estrella gestured to Lisbet, who handed her two embossed silver medallions. "Take this, dearling. Show it at the door when you arrive. The steward will seat you at my table."

The medallion weighed heavily in Steph's hand, and she closed her fingers over it as Estrella gave the other to Angie. "For you as well, my dearling. In case you do not come to the feast together."

"Thanks, Lady Finncapall," said Angie. She slid it into her front pocket and patted the denim to make sure the bulge was still there. "I promise I won't lose it, Aunt Steph."

"I know you won't." Steph put hers into the pocket where she carried her keys. "Lady Estrella, Lady Wainhill. It was a pleasure."

"The honor was mine," said Lady Wainhill. She gestured with her fan, and Steph eased backwards out of range. "Mind yourself, young lady. Mind what Lady Finncapall has told you, and what you have seen. And before Heaven, look up once in a while!"

The last was said in an exasperated tone, and Steph instinctively did just that. The sky was still searing deep blue, and the sun shone through it with a white hot fierceness that made her squint. When she glanced back at Lady Wainhill, the other woman had closed her fan and rested the tip against her lower lip. She watched Steph with a mystifying gleam in her eyes, then nodded once. Steph nodded back as she took Angie's hand.

"Angie! _Angie!_"

The excited shout stopped them both in their tracks. A girl about Angie's age darted through the crowd, her curly blonde hair bobbing in its ponytail as she moved.

"Ohmigod!" she squealed as she reached them. "I can't believe you're here! We were right across from you on the other side. At first I thought it was you, but that couldn't be right because you never told me you were coming. What are you doing here?"

Angie flashed the other girl a bright smile. "Hey, Kelsie! My Aunt Steph brought me for the day. Are you here with your parents?"

A Burg-worthy eye roll accompanied Kelsie's indelicate snort. Steph hid her smile. She remembered too well dragging her parents through street fairs at that age.

"My little sister is here, too," said Kelsie with a woeful sigh. "I want to see the shops, but she cries when we don't stop at the petting zoo and the rides."

"You have to see Mistress Clara's. Aunt Steph has the most beautiful dress that she's going to wear tonight at the King's Feast and—"

Kelsie's squeal nearly deafened Steph, and she winced and stepped away as the two girls went off in raptures of description, Angie's voice excited as she detailed their day so far. Steph wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear what would be said when her niece reached the part about a big brown horse who seemed intent on complicating her aunt's life.

_Speak of the four-footed devil_, she thought. Estrella stood by the fence, her hands resting on the top rail as a certain large horse walked towards her. Someone had straightened Palamon's saddle and removed his armor. He moved at a nonchalant amble, his ears swiveling back and forth to catch the snatches of conversation and sounds around him.

Steph checked across the way and saw Ranger struggling to his feet, ignoring the offers of help from the Agincourt squires. The white edge of a bandage showed beneath his open collar, and he limped badly as he attempted to walk. Steph's stomach twisted with a deep pain, and the breath she drew in was shaky at best. She moved closer to Estrella.

"The Anìar bred their horses for war," Estrella said softly as Steph reached her. "They bred for courage to face the spears of the enemy and stamina to fight to the last. Somewhere in the ancient days, a complete idiot chose to breed for intelligence as well."

"Isn't a smart horse a good thing?" asked Steph.

Estrella nodded towards Palamon as the horse stopped just out of reach. "Behold a ton of I-think-not. Of what use are brains if the horse will not use them? God's truth, I am ready to boot his tail between his ears so he may at least use his ass for thinking."

Her hand smacked flat against the top rail, and Palamon's ears swept back, then sideways as he lowered his head. His lower lip trembled, then drooped enough that Steph could clearly see the pink inner flesh. Palamon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his head dipping down even further.

The picture was one of complete and utter dejection. Even though Steph tried to harden her heart by calculating exactly how many people had witnessed the entire debacle, the tiny quiver of Palamon's lip did her in. "Maybe we shouldn't be so hard on—"

Palamon slowly blinked, his dark lashes sweeping down then up as he peeked at her from the tops of his eyes. His head slowly tilted to the side, and Steph could have sworn she saw the faintest twinkle in those dark brown depths.

A tired chuckle came from Estrella. "I never said the horses of the Anìar were ever bred with a sense of shame. If he were not the best we have, I would banish him to Fenditch and let Bowen's six daughters have at him."

"This would be bad?" muttered Steph. Palamon snorted, flipping his nose into the air.

"Pink ribbons and braids with bells," Estrella said. "They are a handful and I know my brother would be grateful if they would turn their attention from his hunting dogs."

She pointed her finger at the horse. "Go, while I still have the forbearance to allow it. Go straight to camp, Palamon, and do not turn aside. Are we in understanding?"

The snort this time was downright petulant, and Estrella frowned. "No games, Palamon."

The warhorse looked away from her, and she shrugged. "I will not yield to this, so accept it or go home. But if you go home, then Marcus must as well. Do you have so little regard for him?"

The ears went back and Palamon glared at her. Estrella gave it right back to him, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the fence. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the battle of wills, until Palamon dropped his gaze. He dipped his nose towards the ground in acquiescence. Estrella nodded back to him, and Palamon heaved a desolate sigh before ambling towards the gates.

Estrella waited until he had disappeared into the shadows beyond the gates before she let her façade slip. She leaned against the fence and blotted at the sweat on her forehead with her fingers. "I would wish a pox on the nag," she muttered, "but he would repay the favor by coming to me for nursing."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't?" asked Steph.

"Cursed if I do, cursed if I do not," Estrella corrected her.

Steph closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the sting of fatigue. "I didn't know there's a difference. There isn't one in my life."

"You'd be surprised."

Her eyes flew open, but Estrella wasn't looking at her. Instead, her steady gaze was focused on the Agincourt knights. Her lips thinned, and Steph turned as well. As her eyes picked out Ranger, she went cold and her insides froze with a different kind of fear.

Felise, the Countess of Harecote, stood in front of Ranger, her chin tilted up as she stared into his face. A small triumphant smile graced her lips as she spoke to him, and she drew her fingers over his arm. He was partially turned away from the lists, so Steph could not catch any glimpse of his face other than the angle of his jaw as he answered her. Never in her life had she so desperately wanted to see his eyes, to gauge what he was actually thinking. There was no mistaking what the Countess had on her mind. She lifted a delicate hand and touched her index finger to Ranger's throat. When he didn't move away, her smile grew brighter and she traced the line of his jaw until she reached his lips.

Pain pierced Stephanie's heart. Even more than the jousting and the other play acting, this little interlude proved how little she knew about her own life. She once thought that Ranger was the one constant in her life, the one person who would always be there for her.

She blinked away the sudden tears that blurred her vision in time to see the Countess plant a kiss on his cheek. It was a reach for her, given her shorter stature, but Ranger didn't seem to mind. He touched her cheek lightly, then curved his fingers around her face to cradle it.

Dark spots gathered in Steph's vision, and she pulled in a shaking breath. "I have to go. Angie—"

She spun around, turning her back on the horrible image that would be burned into her mind forever. She nearly stumbled as she reached Angie. Her niece looked at her with concern written plainly on her face. "Aunt Steph, are you all right?"

"No, not really." A shaft of incandescent fire hammered into her skull, and she had to grab onto the fence to stay upright. "Um, I think I need to sit in the shade for a while. If it's okay with Kelsie and her parents, maybe you could show her the dresses we were looking at earlier."

"Are you sure? I don't want to leave you if—" Angie let her words trail off, but Steph forced herself to smile, even though it felt like her face was about to shatter into a million pieces.

"Clear it with Kelsie's parents, and go have fun. I'll sit at the table where we had the pastries and meet you at Mistress Clara's so we can get ready for the Feast."

That set both girls off, and their excitement bubbled over. Steph gathered herself mentally and followed them as Kelsie scampered towards her parents waiting by the end of the bleachers. She managed the short walk without stumbling, and she was proud of her ability to keep it together. Seeing Ranger flirting with the Countess was enough to snap the fragile hold she had on her emotions, but she wanted the breakdown to be as private as possible.

Kelsie's parents were the absolute perfect image of a Burg family: the father in a polo shirt and jeans, genial and with the confidence that came from money. Her mother was a June Cleaver clone, watching her children with the half-proud, half-anxious expression of a woman ever alert to any behavior that would discredit her in front of the Burg.

Steph forced herself to smile in the right places, and assured them that she would meet Angie before the Feast. She knew precisely when Kelsie's mother recognized her. The woman's mouth formed a perfect O and her eyes widened. She grabbed her youngest daughter and moved her to the side, out of reach of Steph's insidious contamination.

It didn't even hurt. Steph tried to find some sense of outrage that anyone would be so obviously rude, but she couldn't even manage that. If someone asked her right now, she would be the first to tell the little girl that it was safer to be the next Burg housewife than suffer the loneliness of being the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. Steph realized that she had become what every mother dreaded for her daughter: a dire warning of the folly in trying to be something other than what her mother wanted.

Somehow, she managed to send Angie off with Kelsie and the family. She shooed Angie away when her niece fretted about leaving her alone, and assured her more than once that she would probably sit at the table under the tree and catch a little shut eye while she waited. After several more promises to meet at Mistress Clara's, Steph heaved a sigh of relief as Kelsie and Angie disappeared into the crowds, their excited chatter drifting back to her over the other crowd noise.

Only then did she let her shoulders slump forward. She knew the RangeMan team was still keeping an eye on her, but she didn't care anymore. They would probably die of boredom in the next few hours, because she intended to do nothing more exciting than sit and watch the Faire pass her by. It would be good practice for how the rest of her life would turn out. She might as well practice watching as every opportunity and dream floated beyond her reach.

Steph found the table and chairs empty as before. She sank into one of the chairs, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. It felt good to shut out the world, and pretend for a very short moment that the world didn't exist.

The sounds of the Faire drifted around her, punctuated by laughter. Steph didn't look up and didn't move for the longest time as her thoughts chased their tails. She slipped into a light doze, images of the afternoon dancing through her mind like a dream.

A sound pierced the air, startling her awake. Before she could think, she was automatically reaching into her purse for her battered cell phone as it struggled to play more than every fifth note of the Batman theme. She debated letting it go to voicemail, but the decision was taken out of her hands as the readout went dark. Cursing under her breath, she flipped it over and jiggled the battery pack. The phone chirped to indicate she had a voicemail, and Steph held the back securely in place as she turned it so she could see the readout.

Ranger's private number scrolled across the display. Her finger froze over the Talk button, and she stared at the readout until it flickered again and went dark. Steph sighed and dropped the cell phone back into her purse. She hunched over, her fingers rubbing circles in her temples as she tried to ease the tension pounding against her skull.

_Get it together, Plum_, she thought. _You're a professional. He's a professional. D'you think you can manage to remember that for more than two seconds?_

The pep talk helped. The roiling in her stomach eased, and Steph clung to the faint hope that never seemed to die. She nodded to herself. _Finish the mission. Keep your eyes open and let the guys do their job while you do yours._

"Come with me, my sweet burd," a deep male voice crooned.

Steph tilted her head the tiniest bit, her eyes scanning the entire lane... She wasn't quite sure she had heard correctly, and if she had, whether the sentiment was directed towards her. Men didn't compare her to canaries or parakeets, and they certainly didn't sound like a creepy version of Mr. Rogers.

She waited, and the back door to the one of the bakeries slid open. She squinted slightly as the two people lingered in the doorway. Then one grasped the hands of the other, and the man in the green tunic stepped into the sunlight. He tugged on the hands in his grasp, and a woman in her early 20s followed him into the lane.

"Gallus, I can't be gone for very long," she protested, her voice brimming with laughter. "Wat is busy up front, and I need to make sure there are enough tarts."

The man named Gallus pulled her closer. He kissed her hands entwined with his. "Dearest heart, come away with me. Time will have no meaning when you look into my eyes."

The girl stared into his eyes, her head tipped back, and then slowly nodded. He gave her a smile that sent shivers down Steph's spine like the scampering of a legion of mice. He caressed her throat with his fingers, lazily stroking over the groove where the life pulse beat. "You want to come with me, my little burd?"

She nodded again, her face expressionless, her eyes wide. "Yes, Gallus. I want to come with you."

The laughter in her voice was gone, replaced by an utter lack of emotion. Steph kept herself as still as possible, and watched as Gallus gave the girl another creepy smile and guided her out of the lane.

Before they had rounded the corner, Steph was out of her chair and moving. She slung her purse over her shoulder where it wouldn't get in the way and half-ran on the balls of her feet, trying not to make any sound. When she reached the corner, she eased around it and located Gallus walking rapidly through the crowds, the girl's hand securely in his as she trotted to keep up with him.

Steph used a group of teenagers to conceal her as she left the lane. They turned off by the tattoo parlor, and she merged behind a wandering minstrel trio, never letting her quarry out of her sight. She could hear the murmur of voices around her and the lilting strain of the music, but all of it was background noise to her main focus. Ranger, jousting, public humiliation—none of it mattered in the here and now. All she was concerned about was finding out why the mysterious man was spending time with a bakery worker, and why in the middle of the busiest time?

Gallus stopped at the maze entrance, and scanned the area around him. The girl stared straight ahead, her eyes never blinking or shifting, and it was that utter stillness that kept Steph on target. She waited until they were through the gate and it was starting to close before she slipped through it.

This time she was more careful about tailing him. As before, the sounds of the Faire were muted in this greenwood. She could plainly hear the birdsong and the rustle of the leaves in the wind. Steph paused at the turning, her ears straining to hear anything that would give away her quarry. She heard a snatch of conversation, judged it to be sufficiently far ahead, and slipped around the corner.

Steel bands clamped around her throat and lifted her off her feet. She clutched instinctively at the arms of the giant man holding her off the ground, fighting to loosen his grip just a little so she could drag air into her starving lungs. As her vision darkened, she saw small details-a shock of dark brown hair and seal brown eyes that glared angrily. Then her grip loosened, and Steph couldn't force her fingers to work. Air was her overriding concern, and she wasn't getting nearly enough.

"What is this here?" Gallus walked out of the underbrush, the girl trailing behind him like a puppy dog.

"She was following you, m'lord," the brown man said, giving Steph a tiny shake for good measure. The movement slammed her brain against the inside of her skull, but it also created a little bit of room for her lungs to grab some air. "Be you wanting her dead?"

Gallus swept his gaze over her from head to toe, then let it return to a point midway between where it lingered long enough to be insulting. "Put her down. I want to see her."

Pain shot through her as the man dumped her on the ground. Steph fell on her ass and her spine lit up from the impact. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she raised her chin defiantly.

Before she could move, Gallus gripped her chin and forced her head back. Steph fought to keep from overbalancing, but he pushed her back until she was precisely on the tipping point.

"You have spirit, I can give you that," he murmured, staring in to her eyes. "But you are also troublesome. I do not tolerate loose ends, not when I am so close to my goal."

Gallus shoved her backwards and Steph sprawled on the ground, her head spinning.

He nudged her with a foot. "Still, you are strong and healthy. Perhaps you can be useful."

"Useful for what?" Steph coughed slightly, trying to clear the gunk out of her throat. It wasn't easy; being strangled always made it very difficult to talk.

"Useful for my purposes." Gallus knelt next to her and made a flicking curious gesture with his fingers. Her eyes followed his fingers instinctively, as they wove a complicated figure in the air. "Look into my eyes, silly burd, and let time go away."

"I'm not really—" Steph winced as he wrenched her head around. "Easy on the grabbing! I'm not a hooker."

He laughed without humor. "You will be a common whore when I finish with you. And you will beg for it." Again the gesture, drawing her gaze towards his eyes.

"You're not my type." Steph gave him the best glare she had in her, one that was part fear, part anger and sprinkled liberally with pissed-off Jersey Girl. He held her gaze for a long moment, then released her with a thoughtful sound.

"You are not affected," he said, watching her with considerably more interest. He climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt and leaves off his pants. Gallus stared at her for a long moment, then nodded to his lackey. "Search her."

Steph tried to scramble away, but Big Brown grabbed her foot and dragged her back. Just as she rolled over for another attempt, he buried his fist in her kidneys and she bit back a scream.

Steph squeezed her eyes shut as she fought to catch her breath. Every bit of her focus was on that; if she had spared anything, it would have noticed the professionally callous way the man searched her. He did it with a horrible thoroughness and made no effort to hide his enjoyment. By the time his hands closed around the waistband of her jeans, Steph felt both bruised and completely violated.

She steeled herself for what came next. It was no different from the playground, surrounded by the Slayers. Only this time there would be no Sally Sweet riding to her rescue.

The man cursed viciously as he scrambled away from her, his hands clenched into tight fists. "_Bitch!_ You be one of them!"

"She has a talisman?" asked Gallus, shifting backwards.

Big Brown rubbed his palms against the side of his legs. "Front right pocket. They be good at hiding 'em."

"It will not help," Gallus said. "Kill her. I will send a Hound for the soul. That will be one less I must feed them."

Big Brown leered at her, displaying rotting, stained teeth. Gallus didn't spare Steph another glance. He snapped his fingers towards the young woman waiting by the path, and led her away. Before the next bend in the path had hidden them, Big Brown advanced on Stephanie, his fingers reaching wide as he bent over her.

"I'm going to enjoy this one, little bitch. Your little lucky charm does no keep you from physical harm. Think about that while I choke yer life from your body."

She didn't have the strength to fight him off. A sick feeling swept over her as she struggled to get up, to _move_, but her treacherous body failed to produce even a weak twitch. As Big Brown's meaty hand closed around her throat like a vise, Steph struggled to draw a breath. The pressure built up in her chest as she fought for air and as the rush of blood grew in her ears, the last thing she heard was his low, eager laugh. It followed her into the darkness, echoing through the eternal shadows.

_Dirt filled her nose and her lungs with a loamy, musty smell. Steph tried to move, but that made the smell even worse. As she started to cough, her throat burned with intense fire until she could barely breathe. She couldn't force her eyes open and her entire body was as responsive as lead weight._

_A cold hand touched her forehead, and Steph's reflexive shriek came out as a strangled croak. _

"_Shh," said a soft voice. Another cold touch slid across her throat, and Steph flinched. "Do not move. Try to breathe shallow for a few minutes."_

"_C-c-c-o—"_

_The voice whispered a quiet laugh. "Yes, my hands are cold. You did not have time for me to warm them, dearling."_

_A wave of pain swept over her, and when she surfaced it was to hear the voice talking to her, soothing her instinctive restlessness and encouraging her to breathe. Steph pried her eyes open a little, but a bright white light shot straight into her brain. The pain lanced through her head and she went under again._

_The voice didn't let her sink this time. That feather touch brushed across her forehead, and the pain retreated as the voice whispered in her ear. "Breathe deeper and relax. Take it slow."_

_Steph counted to herself, struggling to relax and think only of the steady expansion and contraction of her lungs. Even though she hadn't tried to open her eyes again, she listened. Only silence reached her ears. No birds twittered overhead, and no breeze pattered through the leaves. Even the air was funny; Steph licked her dry lips and tasted a metallic tang almost like copper on her tongue. _

"_It should be okay now, dearling," her rescuer said. "Try again."_

_Steph ratcheted open her eyes bit by bit, blinking away the tears that washed out the grit. A few more blinks pulled things into focus, and Steph glanced at her surroundings. _

_This most definitely wasn't the maze. Massive trees crowded around them, their thick branches weaving together to form an impenetrable canopy overhead. No sunlight pierced it; the white light filling the air came from everywhere at once. It burned like a summer sun, erasing the shadows lurking beneath the trees. _

_A woman knelt next to Steph, watching silently. Her brown hair was braided back, the plaiting loose and half-undone, with wisps of fine hair floating around her face. A patched and faded blue tunic hung loose over dark grey pants. _

_As she reached out to touch a cool finger to Steph's cheek, the sleeve of her tunic slid across a thick line of moist red that marred the pale skin of her inner forearm. Steph's gaze flipped up to hers and she nodded without any warmth in her dark blue eyes._

"_I said I was in a hurry. Would you like to sit up?" she asked. _

"_Who are you?" asked Steph. She got an elbow underneath herself and pushed, nearly overbalancing. The woman slid an impossibly strong hand under her shoulder and braced Steph until she could make it upright. _

"_Who am I?" repeated the woman. "I am what you one day may be, Stephanie. If you so choose."_

_Steph grabbed at her head as vertigo turned the trees into a crazed carousel. Then images flashed through her brain—of the Ren Faire, Gallus and his ugly henchman choking the life out of her. She shuddered. "I'm dead. There are no more choices. I'm dead."_

"_Not quite. Or should I say 'not yet'?" The woman smiled with the barest upturn of her lips. "I can send you back. But I cannot dictate what you must do."_

_Her hands shook like the last dead leaves in an early winter wind. Steph stared at the ground, her eyes wide and unseeing as she tried to come to grips with the biggest question of her life. _

"_I don't understand," she said finally. "Are you an angel?"_

_The woman laughed. "No. Your life was in peril, and so I came. My only regret is that I did not get here sooner."_

"_Oh." Steph kept her head down, her mind still refusing to work. What did she want? Her mind spun even faster, and a tremor swept through her._

_Those cold hands slid over hers, and they gave a soft squeeze. "Dearling, you do not have unlimited time. Is it so difficult to understand what your heart desires?"_

_An image flashed through Steph's mind before she could stop it, and she felt pain twist through her. She sucked in a breath, hunching her shoulders as she willed it away. "I can't."_

"_Cannot? Or will not?"_

_The voice was no longer gentle. Steel threaded through it, edged with implacable power._

_Tears stung at her eyes and she closed them as a few drops spilled down her face. "I . . . even if I wanted . . . it's not going to happen."_

"_Ah." The woman was silent for a moment, then blew out her breath in a deep sigh. "So that is the way of it. Both ways cursed, and nothing promised as a surety. Your path then lies in whether you choose to fight until the end."_

"_Isn't this the end?" Steph couldn't help the question. She looked up through tear-blurred eyes and met the woman's gaze._

_Her expression softened. "Not if you strengthen your heart and screw your courage to the sticking point, for you will have need of both in the hours ahead. All you must do is choose."_

_She climbed to her feet, and casually picked up two swords lying on the ground behind her. A large diamond flared brilliant in the crosspiece of the larger sword, then faded as the woman shifted. A long smear of red marred the silvered steel blade and Steph swallowed hard as she realized that it was human._

_The woman extended her hand. Steph took it with only the smallest hesitation, and a surge of power flowed through her, graying out her vision. When it cleared, she stood once again in the forest maze. Dusk had fallen, and the path was a pale tan ribbon winding through the forest's shadows._

"_How did you—"_

"_That is not important," the woman said. "Stephanie, I freely give you these things—both gift and advice. You shall know what has been hidden before, and see things with your heart. Hold this knowledge close, dearling. Do not back down, no matter what you face."_

"_But I don't know your name," said Steph as the woman stepped away from her._

_She paused, the diamond in the sword beginning to glow like a newborn star. "Some day you will. Go in grace, Stephanie."_

_The white light strengthened until it blazed like a beacon. A wind brushed past Steph and the light increased to blinding. Then it blinked out, leaving only a faint afterimage._

_Steph was alone._


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's note: My deepest thanks to everyone who has left a review on this story. They are precious to me for their insight and reactions._

_Disclaimers and other minutia: All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and sexual situations (because oh, boy! does Ranger have plans for later in this story!). All mistakes are mine. Thanks to SueB for inspiring the changes in this chapter—I promise to keep Ranger and Steph in as much trouble as possible from now on! And for the Babes everywhere—those aforementioned Ranger-type plans are for you_. _Cheers!_

CHAPTER NINE

The darkness wrapped around her with suffocating weight. Silence ruled the maze, shutting out the sounds of the Faire and replacing them with utter stillness.

A fine tremor deep in her gut warned Steph that she was pushing her talent for denial dangerously close to the edge. It would take more than a marathon viewing of _Ghostbusters _and a semi truck load of Ben & Jerry's to pretend any of this didn't exist. She took two steps in the direction of the gate and tripped, going down to her hands and knees.

Sharp stones dug into her palms, and quick tears blurred her sight. She swiped at her stinging eyes with the back of her hand and the world tilted around her. It spun with a slow, lazy, nausea-inducing, three-dimensional barrel roll.

Steph forced herself to breathe slowly, willing herself to regain control. She tried to move her feet, but something soft and heavy tangled them. The weight clung at her, and she fought the impulse to wrench wildly away from it.

Carefully, she wriggled free, then reached out.

Rough cloth moved under her fingers, followed by a too-familiar clammy smoothness. She snatched her hand back and swallowed hard. There wasn't a need for further exploration. Steph had enough experience with dead bodies that she could qualify as a connoisseur. The only question was the corpse's identity.

She scooted away from the dead body. Her hand brushed against something soft and lumpy, and her fingers found the edges of her purse. Slowly, Steph rummaged through it by touch, cursing the amount of stuff she kept in it, until her fingers closed over her cell phone.

It fell apart in her hand as she lifted it out. The pieces rained onto the ground as she made a blind, desperate grab for them. With painful slowness, Steph found most of them by touch and put them back together. She held her breath as she snapped the battery into place and jiggled it to get some juice into the circuits. Nothing happened. She repositioned her grip and tried again.

When the tiny screen flickered on and she turned it towards the corpse, Steph almost wished she hadn't succeeded. Big Brown lay in the weak glow, his arms flung wide and his eyes staring into the dark sky. A large black stain glistened across his torso and stomach, dripping into an oily puddle on the ground. She didn't have to check him any closer; as Joe often said, the funeral home wouldn't need to do much work on the guy. Most of his bodily fluids would be soaking into the dirt at the rate he was leaking.

A whisper of sound rustled through the bushes, and Steph jumped. She scrambled backwards frantically, stopping only when she slammed into something hard. As she twisted around, her fingers brushed against an incredibly massive and bony leg.

A warm breath of air blew through her hair, and Steph reached out blindly. "Palamon?"

Gentle lips nibbled on the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around the destrier's front leg, the shiver in the core of her being becoming full out shaking. Steph couldn't breathe, and she couldn't see. In the darkness, every terror that she had kept at bay surged through her.

Palamon dropped his nose to her shoulder, a comforting weight to anchor her. Steph struggled for control, but she lost ground until she was blind and deaf, shaking and completely lost. She hugged Palamon's leg tightly, trying to use his size and strength against the darkness, but that wasn't what she needed.

"I want . . . Ranger," Steph whispered. Her tears dampened Palamon's rough hair. "Please. I . . . need Ranger."

Desperately, she called up every memory she could, remembering how Ranger would fold her into his arms, anchoring her against his solid body with arms strong enough to never let go. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek as she burrowed closer to his reassuring warmth, and her breathing slowed as she matched it to his steady, calm rhythm.

"I need you, Ranger," she whispered.

"_Steph."_

She blinked. The voice was faint, something she wasn't even sure she heard. Steph struggled into a half-sitting position, her arms still wrapped tightly around Palamon's foreleg. She blinked again, but her vision blurred even worse and a sharp pain stabbed through her head. She pressed her head against her hand, trying to ease the pain.

"_No . . . no . . . "_

The ground tilted again. As her eyesight darkened, her grip loosened as everything whirled erratically. Her stomach rolled with each change of direction, and bile rose in her throat.

" . . . _no time . . . quota before dawn_._"_

Steph dug her fingers into the soft earth and shook. She knew that voice. It would haunt her nightmares with the Slayers, Stiva and Scrog for a long time.

"_. . . will not . . . no . . . nononononono . . . "_

Ranger. She blinked as she recognized the soft, determined tones that interrupted Gallus's fragmented words. But why . . . ?

_Felise stood in front of Ranger, her hand wrapped around his throat. She forced his head back as he struggled to breathe. "__**Mine.**__"_

There wasn't time to do more than turn her head as the contents of her stomach hit escape velocity. Palamon shifted enough to avoid most of it, but otherwise stayed still as Steph lost lunch, breakfast and any fond memory she'd ever had of food.

She wiped her lips with the back of a shaking hand. The sour taste in her mouth wouldn't go away, no matter how much she swallowed, and her stomach hurt like it had been rammed through a sausage-maker.

"What's going on?" she whispered, not really expecting an answer but feeling that the Universe at least owed her the question. "Am I finally going crazy?"

Warm breath stole past her face, and she closed her eyes as Palamon delicately swept his lips across her cheekbone. Like a mother's touch to a sick child, the destrier soothed the tension from her face until she relaxed against his leg once again.

"I shouldn't be surprised that I'm hallucinating," Steph said, more to herself than anyone. "After all my crazy exploits, it's a wonder I haven't tipped over the edge before now. I mean, would anyone in my life be at all surprised if—"

Teeth grasped firm hold of her shirt collar and hauled her upright. Her feet scrabbled for a bit until she found solid ground; Palamon held onto her until she was upright. His teeth grazed the back of her neck as he slowly let her go.

The world tried to slide sideways and take her with it, but Steph gritted her teeth and stayed put. She didn't reach for Palamon to steady herself, and she refused to fall to her knees. Not this time.

A very large, very broad nose gave her a firm nudge between the shoulder blades. Steph shot a glare at him, but it bounced off the horse's thick skull as easily as it had bounced off his rider's earlier. Another nudge, this one centered on her lower back, and Steph nearly toppled over.

"All right, I'm going. Just let me get my purse." Steph avoided looking in the direction of Big Brown as she gathered up her purse and the sadly-battered remains of her cell phone. As she picked it up, the display sputtered to life for a quick second, long enough for her to see the time.

A soft curse slipped out as the numbers registered. It was far past the time that she should have met Angie at Mistress Clare's. She hoped with every fiber of her being that Angie was safely at the King's Feast. She hoped that her niece was sitting at a table, surrounded by other people and plenty of light, not wandering aimlessly in the dark by the dressmaker's shop, easy prey for someone like Gallus or the Countess Harecote.

"I've got to find the Merry Men," she said. "Lester or Tank, or _someone_. I have to protect Angie."

Palamon blew out a soft breath, then nudged her shoulder, towards the maze entrance. "All right! Keep your shirt on." Steph winced as muscle cramps spread fire through her legs, but kept moving. Another nudge nearly over-balanced her, and she sped up a little to keep distance between her and the destrier. "Sheesh. Kiss a horse once and he turns into Mr. Bossy Pants."

Palamon didn't dignify it with an answer, but he stayed close enough that she could feel his hot breath steam pressing the back of her shirt. She limped horribly, and Palamon kept his nose just underneath her elbow, ever ready to support her if she needed it.

The silence and the emptiness of the forest followed her as closely as Palamon. As she slipped through the gate, the completely absurd thought popped into her head that, for the amount of time she had already spent in the damn maze, she had yet to walk through it to the end.

_Story of my life_, she thought as she paused just outside the entrance. The Faire had changed completely after sunset. The crowds and bustle of the daylight hours were gone, replaced by small groups by food booths still open and the lonely sounds of musicians playing to empty seats in wan lantern light. The grand and lively scene was worn and tired like an old rug shredded and stained by the years. Steph hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should try Mistress Clare's first or hunt down the Merry Men.

An owl hooted in the tree above her head, and she looked both ways down the street. With a soft sigh, she started towards the dress shop, her chin lifted high as she tried to keep a lid on the shaking that threatened to take over her body.

Turning the corner, her heart dropped. There were no performers here or eateries and not even a glimmer of light showed in Mistress Clara's Emporium. Steph tried the door, but it didn't even rattle on its hinges.

She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into the shop. The mannequins were ghostly figures, their richly-colored finery grey in the shadows. Nothing stirred inside and Steph's heart gave a painful little lurch. _Please God. Please let Angie be safe . . ._

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and Steph reacted instinctively. She spun around, her foot connecting solidly with her attacker's shin. There was a moment of complete surprise at her success, then a descriptive curse slipped out as pain shot up her leg.

Her attacker wasn't happy, either. Steph didn't understand the words that were blistering the cool night air, but most of them sounded impressively vile. The hand on her shoulder curled into a fist to grip her shirt, and she was unceremoniously hauled between the shops into a narrow lane.

Steph didn't go quietly. She struggled, using every trick she could think of to both slow him down and loosen his grip. One time she nearly succeeded, and she lunged sideways, only to hear the shirt fabric rip and her momentum stopped by a muscular arm around her waist.

"Put me down, you sonofa—"

Her feet hit the ground hard enough to jar teeth loose. Steph tensed, then squeaked in surprise as she was pinned against the side of the shop. A flame flared in the darkness and steadied into a glow from a small oil lantern.

"Stephanie," said a familiar male voice, and she blinked as Marcus came into focus. A second glance around the arc of dim light showed Owyn holding the lantern and several other men standing nearby. All of them were armed, the heavy swords hanging at their sides with an ominous promise of death that was all too real.

"What the hell?" she said, her knees going weak. Marcus eased her away from the building, holding her upright. "What the hell do you think you're doing, attacking people in the dark?"

Marcus looked like he was thinking about smiling. "One would ask, my lady, where you find it necessary to disappear for hours. Estrella feared some ill had taken you when Angie came to the Feast alone. We have been searching the grounds ever since."

"I—" Steph shook her head, trying to jar her brain back into gear. She glanced at Marcus. "Hours? I've been gone for hours?"

He shrugged, lifting one shoulder a fraction. "As near as we know. Palamon insisted you were here, but we could not find you."

"Palamon—" she said, then stopped when she didn't see the destrier's broad white blaze. "He was right here. He found me after I . . . fell asleep and—"

Marcus grasped her hand and turned it so her palm lay exposed to the lantern light. Steph cringed as she took inventory of the wreckage. Dirt and debris ground painfully deep into her pores. _Check._ An angry red scratch on the meat of her thumb with droplets of fresh blood beading along its course. _Check_. Drying, flaking blood stains from the corpse assuming ambient air temperature back in the maze. _Check and check._

"Is this your blood?" asked Marcus, his voice rough.

"Actually, a funny thing happened while I was trying to find a place to nap. This guy came up and—"

Marcus growled as he stared at her with a frightening expression. She trailed off into silence, not quite sure how close he was to exploding, and not really wanting to poke him any harder to find out. He held her gaze for a few seconds, then beckoned to Owyn to hold the lantern higher. The squire obeyed, lifting the lantern so its light fell on Steph.

Steph casually yanked her shirt over her shoulder, then sighed as the abused material ripped even more. There was no way she could go to the Feast like this, and there was no way short of a miracle that she could fix herself up enough to be presentable.

"I should get Angie and call it a day," she said as Marcus stepped back. The King's Feast was supposed to be the crowning event for her, and instead it had become a symbol of everything that she couldn't have. "Give my regrets to Estrella and tell her thank you for everything that she's done for me and Angie. I'm sorry things didn't work out."

"The side is not played out yet," said Marcus. He jerked his head towards the street, and two of the men nodded once and disappeared into the shadows. "Owyn, your tunic if you please. It should suffice to cover most of the damage."

Steph blinked, but Owyn was already shrugging out of his dark blue tunic. His white undershirt gleamed in the darkness as he tossed the tunic to Marcus, who stuffed the still-warm material into her arms. "We will need to hurry."

"Where are we going?"

"To find a hand washing station," answered Marcus as he watched her take a tentative step. When she winced, he hoisted her into his arms and started walking out of the lane. "The chief herald has eyes like a hawk, even if he is over seventy."

"I can walk, you know," she said.

Marcus might have smiled, but the shadows thrown by the tiny lantern made it hard to tell. "Perhaps. I would not overtax you, my lady. The evening is not yet over."

Steph settled into his embrace as best she could, trying to ignore the sword hilt digging into her lower back. "For me it is. I'm done."

"Think you so?" Marcus did smile then, a mixture of amusement and something much sadder and darker. Steph clutched the tunic tighter and tried to look anywhere but at the man who carried her so easily across the uncertain ground.

They found one of the ubiquitous sanitary stations one street over. Marcus set her down and stepped back to give her room, his dark eyes unreadable. Owyn adjusted the lantern so the light fell on the sink, and Steph scrubbed at her hands and forearms until the skin burned. She tried to avoid the puffy red areas on her palms, but finally gave up being gentle and washed until it became too sensitive to the touch.

Steph gave her face and neck the same treatment. Marcus watched the area around them the entire time, only once leaning in to swipe off some dirt on her temple that she had missed. He gave her a tight smile as he resumed his watch, and Steph hurried with the rest of her clean up, feeling just a little too exposed.

A heavenly scent surrounded Steph as she slid Owyn's tunic over her head. There was a warmth to the smell, like an intense patchouli with a medium flower note to balance it out. It reminded her of summer and sun, and a sky stretching forever overhead.

The hem of the tunic fell to her knees and covered both her ruined shirt and the worst stains on her jeans. She finger-combed her hair, wishing that she had a mirror to tame the unruly mess. She checked by touch for any twigs or leaves, and hoped silently that she hadn't picked up any bug hitchhikers in the woods.

Marcus waited silently until she finished. Wordlessly, he tugged the collar of the tunic higher around her neck. "Bruises," he said softly.

Her hands went to the collar, and as they brushed over the skin exposed there, a twinge of deep-seated pain confirmed that she would have an impressive set when they colored out. She avoided looking at Marcus as she adjusted the material even higher. "I'm ready."

He studied her for a moment longer than politeness allowed, then offered her his arm. As she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, he covered her fingers with his own rough and callused ones.

It was slow going, even though Steph leaned heavily on Marcus to take most of the weight off her injured leg. He never tried to hurry her, but instead shortened his stride to match hers. When she would hesitate before taking the next step, he would pause as well. Whenever the pain would rob her of breath, his reassuring grip on her hand gave her courage to keep moving.

Thankfully, the Great Hall for the King's Feast wasn't far away. As they walked the darkened streets, Marcus directed Owyn to keep to the shadows, the flame on the lantern turned down to the merest hint of light. Both men walked with a wariness that sent shivers of fear coursing through her.

A flourish of pipes shrilled in the silence, and Steph startled badly. Heavy drums pounded beneath their nimble tune and thundered through her like a giant's heartbeat. She tightened her grip on Marcus as they turned the last corner before the central square.

Flames skittered and raced along the heavy posts piled against each other in the middle of the large expanse. A minstrel group played to one side, the men's bare chests gleaming in the firelight as the women's bangles flared like tiny sparks. Teenagers danced between the fire and the musicians, making up the steps to match the spirited dance tune. Others just as reluctant to leave the Middle Ages for the real world outside the gates sat on the trampled grass, enjoying music and dance, fire and night.

Marcus stayed close to the buildings that lined that right side of the square. His free hand rested on his belt near his sword, and he nodded to Owyn, who dropped back to trail them.

The Great Hall was a sprawling two story half-timbered building with gleaming whitewashed plaster. A large portico framed the heavy double doors at the front where two guards in gaudy red and black blocked the entrance with crossed halberds. Warm lantern light glowed in the glazed windows of the dining hall, a cheerful counterpoint to the ravening flame of the bonfire.

As they crossed the wooden porch, a tingle raced across the back of her neck. Steph didn't dare turn around, but she slid her eyes to both sides. Nothing. She focused harder on the tingle and it came back more intense than ever, and it didn't feel friendly. Not this time. As casually as possible, she sidled a little bit closer to Marcus.

The door guards didn't move until Marcus halted in front of them. The one on the right nodded sharply and leaned over to open the door. Warm light spilled into the night, accompanied by the low murmur of voices.

Marcus drew her inside and stopped in the shallow foyer. His dark eyes swept over her and his mouth quirked a bit at one corner. "This is not what I had hoped for you, Stephanie. I would that you were appareled as splendidly as Mistress Angie, and every man in the Hall faint with jealousy that your smiles were bestowed upon me."

"I—" She broke off as her cheeks grew hot. "This wasn't my fault."

He shook his head. "No, this was not your fault. If there be fault in all of this, it lies elsewhere than with you."

Istvan materialized beside Marcus, his bright eyes flashing with barely suppressed curiosity as he bowed formally. "My lord, Lady Estrella sends word that the Countess is seated at the king's table this night. She bids you make haste."

"Of course. Harecote grasps every chance to elevate itself, e'en when the king be other than crowned." Marcus bit his lip as he stared down the hallway to the left. A bright blue sign swung in an errant breeze, its universal symbols for the restrooms out of place in this medieval hall. "Istvan, Lady Stephanie injured her leg. Would you be so kind as to render her aid?"

"At once, my lord." Istvan flashed Steph a quick smile and knelt in front of her. He frowned, then gently grasped her injured leg above the knee.

Instinct urged her to pull away from him, to step back and demand an explanation. But something deeper than instinct had her standing still as a warmth spread through her aching muscles.

Istvan scooted backwards, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. "My lady is better?" he asked as he reached up to take both of her hands in his.

Steph put weight on the leg. There was a faint click as the knee joint shifted, but nothing else. No cramp, no pain, no protest. "Yeah, it's better. What did you do?"

"Istvan has some skill in the healing arts." Marcus said, offering his arm as Istvan released her hands and climbed to his feet.

Steph shot him a hard look. "You left a lot out of that answer."

"You have no idea," Marcus said pleasantly.

He didn't move as Steph continued to give him a blistering Burg glare. Finally she huffed out her breath and took his proffered arm. "Fine. But sooner or later, you're going to give me a straight answer," she said.

Istvan stepped ahead of them and knocked firmly on the doors. He waited a beat, then opened the one on the right. As its heavy hinges creaked loudly, the boy moved to one side. "My lady, my lord."

Steph managed a weak smile that quickly fled as they entered the Great Hall.

People. There were a lot of people crammed into the hall, their elbows jostling each other as they sat around several large round tables scattered throughout the high-ceilinged room. Massive beams criss-crossed overhead and wooden posts bigger around than she could reach marched in double rows along either side of the room. Servers in medieval costumes crowded a broad center aisle as they cleared the first course from the tables. A massive tapestry covered the far wall, providing a striking background for the long table resplendent with the finery of the Court's favored nobles.

Steph pressed a little closer to Marcus. Her fingers tightened on his arm as she saw the Countess Harecote seated on the far end of the royal dais. She wore even more jewels than before, and they flashed and glittered in the light as she talked to the somber lord to her left. An empty chair sat on her right, at the very end of the table.

An elderly gentleman slightly taller than Marcus blocked their way. "Sir Marcus. Shall I announce you?"

"No, thank you, Master Robert," said Marcus. "Lady Stephanie and I would prefer not to disturb the others with our tardy arrival."

The chief herald nodded and resumed his place by the door. Marcus urged Steph forward, guiding her through the melee to a table near the bank of windows on the right side of the room. Estrella sat in the chair closest to the windows, with Angie on her left and a couple of empty chairs to her right. Sir Henri was across from her with Lady Wainhill on his left.

From her angle of approach, Steph couldn't see more of Angie than the top of her head, but then they were even with the table and her niece caught sight of her. "Aunt Steph! You came!"

Mistress Clara and Margie had outdone themselves, Steph thought as she wrapped her niece in a careful hug. The dark green velvet dress brought out the rich and vibrant color in Angie's hair and eyes, and turned her complexion to an enviable shade of rose-kissed porcelain. A matching green cap with a blindingly white feather perched on top of her braided golden-brown hair. A delicate gold chain hung around her neck with Estrella's talisman threaded through its brilliant links.

"I was so worried when you didn't come to the dress shop, and Margie walked me over here. What happened? Why aren't you in your dress?"

Steph pasted on a cheerful expression. "I fell asleep, if you can believe it. When I woke up, it was too late to change. I guess you'll have to be the lady in the family tonight."

"Oh." Angie gave Steph a brave smile. "Maybe we could show our dresses to Great-Grandma? She could take our pictures and show the ladies at Clip 'N Curl what medieval women look like."

"Medieval ladies," Steph said. "You definitely qualify as a lady."

Angie's smile was blinding, and Steph allowed herself to smile for real in answer. "Want to show me where I'm sitting? I'm starved after all that hard napping work."

As she followed her niece to the empty seats on the other side of the table, Steph ignored Estrella's eyes on her. She nodded to both Sir Henri and Lady Wainhill; the knight's wife nodded back, her expression grim.

Steph shooed Angie back to her own place and squeezed past the diners at the next table, murmuring an excuse when there was barely enough room to pass.

Istvan slid the chair out for her and waited until she was settled before shaking out the fine linen napkin and arranging the silverware so everything was within reach. Steph smoothed her hand down Owyn's tunic and tried to keep her eyes resolutely forward. If she didn't look at Estrella, sitting silently to her immediate left, she wouldn't have to think about anything but the meal.

Istvan set a small plate in front of her, then added a shallow bowl filled with a thick, mushy porridge.

Her stomach quivered dangerously at the warm, oaten smell rising with the steam from the food. A hard swallow convinced her insides to stay in place, but she didn't touch her silverware. At this point in a string of disasters, Steph had at least learned to be cautious.

"Try it," said Marcus as he slid into the seat next to her. He kept a hand on his sword, holding it steady until he was settled. Little starbursts of light danced across the mirror-polished silver hilt like fireflies until she grew dizzy watching them. "The food is better than it looks."

Steph swallowed again, and dipped her spoon into the mess. She shut her eyes as her lips closed around the bite, then the taste hit her tongue. Her spoon dipped into the cereal faster the second time and Marcus laughed softly.

"You approve?"

"Oh, yeah," said Steph, catching a little spot on the corner of her mouth with her tongue. "What is this stuff?"

"Frumenty," said Estrella. She leaned forward, and when Steph's eyes flicked towards Angie, the Lady shook her head ever so slightly. "She will not hear us. My words here are meant for you only."

Steph busied herself scraping the last bit of the cereal from the bottom of the bowl, but Estrella didn't back down. "Stephanie. Time grows short for us. What befell you?"

"I . . . nothing. Nothing happened to me." She forced herself to smile. "I fell asleep and had some really weird dreams. The chair broke and I hit the ground. End of story."

Something flashed in Estrella's eyes, and Steph instinctively flinched. The Lady nodded, her own expression a study of grim admiration. "So that is the way of it. Think well on your choices, Stephanie. We fast approach the point where we must put paid to the cost of our decisions."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steph demanded. "What is going on around here? What aren't you telling _me_?"

"That we cannot afford to lose here," said Marcus in a low voice. "Your world could not bear the consequences if we do."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it again as she realized that she really didn't know what she was supposed to say. _Of course you can lose—this is only a game?_ Or maybe _New Jersey is a hell of a lot tougher than you seem to think?_

Istvan reached between them to remove the empty bowl from her place. He put a small bowl of steaming water to her right, and held a heavyweight linen towel at her elbow. Steph glanced around and noticed Angie dipping her fingers in her bowl and wiping them on the towel Sir Henri's page held for them. She tried to copy the movements, and slopped some water on the tablecloth when her fingers shook a little too much.

As Istvan bowed and moved back, Steph smoothed the front of the tunic again. The thick, close weave shifted under her touch, and she glanced down at the deep blue material, remembering the dress that still hung in Mistress Clara's Emporium. The contrast between the gorgeous _Lady of the Lake_ dress with its intricate embroidery and the plain tunic couldn't emphasize more the difference between where she wanted to be and where her life kept taking her.

_I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to be this monumental screw up who can't even manage __**just one time**__ to do the right thing._ Steph sighed, well aware that both Estrella and Marcus were watching her like hawks about to strike. _Just once, I would like to have things turn out the way they are supposed to . . ._

_Proud of you, Babe._

Startled, Steph jerked her head up. She looked around the entire room, searching for the source of those softly whispered words, but all she saw were people eating and conversing. A group of minstrels were setting up in the open space near the front, their medieval finery shimmering under the light. The royal table itself was full of people who looked grand enough to have been at ease in any European court five hundred years ago.

She waited for the tingle to raise the hairs on the back of her neck, and waited for the instinctive warmth that always spread through her body whenever Ranger was near, but there was nothing. All she had was the echo of those words that always reassured her there was at least one person in the world who had her back.

Steph shifted in her chair, her gaze flicking around the room as she tried to gauge how much longer the meal would last. Marcus still watched her while he talked to Sir Henry and Lady Wainhill, and Estrella was keeping Angie occupied with a low-voiced conversation that had her niece smiling. Sprinkled around the room, people in modern dress picked at the unfamiliar food and drank large amounts of the wine and beer.

Slowly, she reached into her purse and felt around for her cell phone as a half-formed idea teased the edges of her brain. _Use the broken cell as an excuse. Find Tank . . ._

Just as her fingers closed over its hard edge, the dull _thump, thump_ of heavy wood on the plank floor cut off conversation and noise like a sharp blade.

Master Roberts stepped into the open space, his staff of office clenched in one white-knuckled hand. "Your Majesties, my lords and ladies, honored guests. His Grace, Aoidh Triath, the Duke of Westborne."

Chairs scraped across the floor. Marcus was on his feet before the echo of the title faded. Estrella stood as well, her face pale and strained.

Only slightly slower, the rest of the diners followed suit, their confusion obvious as they looked from the royal table to the herald as he stood stiffly at attention. Then an older man walked through the doors, and a collective indrawn breath hissed through the room.

_Quality always tells._ Steph knew that phrase and every Burg version of it since she was old enough to crawl out of her crib. Her mother said it in church as she straightened her rebellious daughter's dress and knee highs, or whispered it as an admonishment when Stephanie couldn't remember the proper way to greet elderly Mrs. Babocci passing in the street.

_Quality always tells_ . . . but Ellen Plum had never crossed paths with quality that gripped a room in silence, and lowered a king's head in an automatic bow as the Duke of Westborne walked the length of the hall.

Steph gulped reflexively. It wasn't the dark blue velvet tunic, embroidered with silver thread or the sapphire stone set in the silver signet ring that flared in the light as he talked to the King and Queen that made the Duke one of the quality. The dangerous air and self-assured carriage of this man spoke volumes about the power he wielded. His gaze was that of a predator at the very top of the food chain, and he feared nothing from the people in this room.

Her breath disappeared completely as the Duke finished his conversation with the King and turned towards Estrella's table. He stopped beside Estrella and she immediately sank into a deep curtsy with Lisbet following suit behind her. Both Marcus and Istvan bowed with a studied courtesy that ran slivers of ice through Steph's veins.

The Duke's eyes flicked over her, and the cold became deep winter glacial as those dark blue eyes studied her. The warmth of his smile did not reach his eyes as he gave a tiny nod to Estrella. "Enlighten me, my niece, how I can search for a man through fire, air and sea, yet you easily flush him from cover."

Estrella tried a smile, but her lips were pressed tightly together. "Your Grace, I beg your pardon. I pray that it your hunt ends here. For all of our sakes."

"We may yet find the price too dear," he said, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Sit, child. Conserve your strength for what will come."

"Will you honor us with your presence, Your Grace?" asked Marcus as the Duke guided Estrella back to her seat.

The Duke nodded. "Of a certainty, Sir Marcus. I would refresh my spirit for these few moments in the company of the fairest ladies in the room."

He bent and pressed a brief kiss on Estrella's hair, then eased behind her chair, his eyes intent on Steph. "I have not yet made the acquaintance of this fairest of all," he said, his voice sending shivers of electricity across Steph's skin. "God be with you always, my lady."

"I—uh," Steph closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, irritated beyond belief that she stuttered over a man old enough to be her father. _It's all make believe_, she repeated to herself as she opened her eyes and forced a smile.

"God be with you as well, my lo— uh, your grace."

He smiled and took her right hand into his own. His fingers gripped hers with a surprisingly gentle pressure as he bowed slightly over it. "Remember this moment, my lady Stephanie. It is the first that the Duke of Westborne loved you."

The world tilted around her, and her stomach clenched as Steph waited for the last, disastrous fall off its edge. She swayed for a moment, and the Duke slid a steadying hand underneath her elbow. With all of the solicitousness that a woman could wish for, he seated Steph and took the place beside her that Sir Marcus vacated.

A low murmur rose around the room as the other diners seated themselves as well. The Duke ignored the stares and the whispers as he waited for Istvan to clear the place setting and lay out new dishes and cutlery. He took the folded linen napkin from the page and shook it out with a deft flick of his fingers, each of his movements precise and graceful.

Steph watched him as discreetly as she knew how, but there was something about him that invited open stares. The air of danger that clung to him drew the eye, and his unconscious grace kept it there. Only when his dark blue eyes rested on a person did Steph see the appreciative admiration dissipate. That regard forcefully reminded her that men were dangerous for but one reason, and that was their ability to kill. A heart, a life, a livelihood—all of them were equally fair game.

"You are quiet, Stephanie," the Duke observed as the next course was brought into the Hall with a musical flourish from the minstrels. A trio of servers staggered under the weight of the roast pig they carried to the royal dais so the King could inspect it. The King stripped a piece of meat from the carcass with a swift cut of his table knife, munched for a few moments, then nodded to the head cook.

As the other servers hurried forward with platters of cut meat, the Duke continued to watch Steph. Her eyes flicked towards him once, but she glanced away immediately, not wanting to get caught in that mesmerizing stare. Instead, she pretended absolutely fascination with the serving of the next course. There was never any real hope that a man like him would be fooled by her feigned interest, and the tiny sigh he breathed out as he shifted in his chair proved that he saw through her.

"Sir Marcus, what men do you have to command?" The Duke touched a finger to his silverware and moved it a fraction of an inch to the right.

The knight considered for a long moment. "Not enough, Your Grace. I can muster twenty from our ranks, with mayhap another five who would join us for honor's sake. Add to that maybe fifteen squires and we are at a disadvantage."

"We need Meredon," Estrella said.

"Meredon cannot come, at least not until morning." The Duke shook his head. "If I had better foresight, I would not have accepted the trade mission to Elmag. But accept I did, and now we must perforce make do."

Estrella blew out a defeated sigh. "Elmag. The trip cannot be made twice within a day's span, and we have already drawn from that well today."

"Indeed." He took the platter of meat from Istvan and deftly forked the choicest cuts onto his plate. "Yet can your skills tell me that we are not now on a stronger footing? The first battle may be short, but the war is long."

"That remains to be Seen," said Estrella dryly.

"Do not let what you See obscure what you can see," the Duke answered. He cut his meat into bite-sized chunks with an economical twist of his wrist. Steph watched from the corner of her eye, trying to listen to the conversation as unobtrusively as possible. Surprise blew her efforts when the Duke placed half of the meat onto Steph's plate.

"What—" Steph broke off, not quite sure what she was asking.

"You are my honored guest, Stephanie," he said in a voice that was as calm as his actions. "It is one of our customs to take great care with those we cherish. Rejoice, dearling. You are beloved of Westborne."

"But I don't want to be—"

His fork pointed at her plate. "Eat, and save the protests for later, when there is leisure to consider them. You need your strength, dearling, and you need to eat."

The tantalizing odor rising from the meat had her stomach twisting with hunger, but Steph didn't like to be told when to eat any more than she cared to be told who to marry. She pressed the heel of her left hand against her abdomen to quiet the monster within, and stared at her plate. "I'm not that hungry."

"Liar," he said, his voice giving no heat to the word. "Eat, Lady Stephanie. It is a good meal, and a shame to sacrifice it for a pride that cares not."

Steph wanted to argue the point, but she wasn't quite sure if the point mattered. The tarts from the afternoon were long gone and she hadn't kept much of anything down after the episode in the maze. Reluctantly, she picked up her fork and speared the first cut of meat she could find.

It flopped on her fork like a limp fish, and Steph closed her lips over it with an air of resignation. The spices in the sauce slid over her tongue, pricking it with a sharp tang as the mellow base smoothed away the sting.

The Duke watched her as she ate, and slid a second helping onto her plate before she had completely finished the first. He motioned to Istvan, and the page set a basket of breads between them.

The warm, yeasty smell rising from the basket had Steph's stomach tying itself into impatient knots. The Duke laughed softly and swiftly buttered one of the rolls for her. He laid the two halves on her plate and took a roll for himself, repeating the procedure before taking a bite from it as the butter melted into the bread.

"I have found it best, Stephanie, to never fear our appetites." He wiped his mouth with the napkin as the sapphire on his signet ring flared in the light. "Do not be ruled by them, but do not fear them. They exist to keep us alive, and to remind us how to live. These are good things."

"You've obviously never talked to my mother," Steph muttered. She toyed with a bit of meat before stabbing it with her fork. "She says I'm too impulsive, that I don't think things through enough."

"And yet you resist the temptation to lose yourself in this world around you." The Duke smiled at her, the expression with a hint of warmth to take the sting from his words. "Look to your niece. She does not hesitate to embrace what we bring to her."

Steph glanced across the table where Angie was watching the minstrels. "Angie thinks your world is make-believe."

"You do not?"

"I think there is a lot you're not telling me, and I think you're running something on the side that has nothing to do with this Ren Faire." Steph lifted her chin and looked the Duke straight in the eye. "I just need to find out what your connection is to Gallus."

The air around the table turned cold enough to raise goose bumps on Steph's skin. The warmth drained out of the Duke's eyes and she found herself pinned in her chair by the weight of his regard. "Westborne is his Death. What do you know of Gallus?"

"I—"

"Countess Harecote, you go too far! By God, madam, restrain yourself!"

The King's furious reprimand cut through the noise in the hall. Steph looked instinctively, and in the moment when she focused on the Countess, wished with all of her heart that she hadn't.

The chair next to Felise was no longer empty. The man wore a dark green tunic, and his dark hair fell free over his shoulders as he buried his face in the side of the Countess's creamy-white neck. From the way she lifted her chin and arched into his touch, there was no doubt in anyone's mind exactly how much Felise was enjoying the attention.

When the King rose to his feet, the Countess glanced in his direction and let her lips fall into a moue of sensuous displeasure. But she threaded her fingers through her lover's hair and interrupted his play on her body.

As he sat back, Steph wasn't quite sure if the pain piercing her heart was completely imaginary. She knew the expression on his face. She'd seen it in the early morning light as their first night together waned. When his hand slide deliberately across Felise's breast, Steph's skin quivered as if remembering his touch.

Ranger leaned forward to place an open mouth kiss on Felise's lips, then kissed his way across her jaw to the point just below her ear. The Countess laughed, a delicate sound of uninhibited delight, and she turned her head slightly until her eyes met Steph's. The smile curving that perfect mouth was completely possessive, and completely unrepentant.

_**Mine.**_


	11. Chapter 10

_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic, but not a HEA ending—at least, not in this installment. Not Cupcake friendly. This is in the style of a 13__th__ century _chanson de geste,_ with a strong fantasy element. Rated M for strong emotional content, violence, language and adult situations (because Ranger never keeps his hands to himself). All mistakes in the depictions of medieval life are completely my own. All grammatical/ spelling/colloquialism mistakes are mine as well. My heartfelt thanks to SueB for her feedback and encouragement. Oh, and her limitless patience for waiting as long as she does for each chapter. Thank you to everyone who has kept looking for this story to continue and on occasion felt the need to prod me (gently or no) to finish it._

CHAPTER TEN

Fire then ice poured through her, devouring her heart then freezing every drop of blood in her veins. Dimly, she heard the clatter of her fork as it dropped from her nerveless fingers, but she didn't care if she smeared sauces across the table and the floor. Her thoughts chased themselves in ever-faster circles until the room and the voices in it whirled in a death spiral.

Trumpets announcing the arrival of the next course broke Steph out of her reverie. She pushed back from the table, her chair scraping loudly across the floor. The Duke rose as well, his expression solicitous as he touched the inside of her forearm with his fingertips. "Stephanie?"

"I—" Steph paused and swallowed hard as the room tilted. "I need to find the restrooms. Maybe it was something I ate—"

Marcus appeared at her other side and steadied her when she swayed. "Are you sure you can make it? Maybe I should go with you."

"No! No, I'll be fine." Steph tempered her denial, trying to convey that she was merely embarrassed by her weakness. It didn't help that Angie was watching her with a worried expression, nor that Estrella's gaze could only be called piercing. But the Lady of Finncapall didn't say anything beyond a quiet word to Lisbet, who hurried forward.

"Pray allow me to aid you, my lady," she said in a soft voice. Marcus released Steph reluctantly and made room for them as they inched behind the Duke's chair and into the aisle. Just as they cleared the table, the Duke drew a crisp white handkerchief from his sleeve.

"Stephanie, please take this. I am certain you will have need of it."

"I—thank you." She instantly recognized the quality of the simple square of material. Maybe there was an Armani equivalent for handkerchiefs, but she was quite certain that the scrap that she held was never mass-produced in a factory somewhere in Newark. This had a weight to it that no common handkerchief could hope to duplicate, and the way it draped from her fingers in gentle folds told more about its origins than any gauche or vulgar label sewn into the seam. She tucked it into her front pocket and took a deep breath as she passed between the tables on the way to the doors.

They slipped past the master of ceremonies and into the hallway. Lisbet adjusted her support, clearly intent on escorting Steph to the restrooms and wherever else she felt the need to go. Unfortunately, Steph wasn't the kind of person who needed a cheering section as she emptied her stomach for the second time that day, nor a servant to wave ammonia capsules under her nose if she fainted.

"Uh, I think I can handle it from here," she said, trying to extricate her arm.

Either Lisbet was slow on the uptake, or she was ferociously devoted. "My lady, allow me to be of help. The restrooms are this way."

Steph glanced down the hallway in the direction indicated and a shiver ran across her skin. Bingo. Normalcy and safety were but a few steps away, and she didn't need help getting that far.

"Lisbet, I'm feeling better. Why don't you wait for me near the door, and that way you can help if you see me needing it on the way back."

"I will not abandon you," the girl answered, her chin set in a stubborn line Steph recognized all too well.

Her shoulders slumped and she couldn't help a long-suffering sigh as they passed the front doors. A flicker of light from the huge bonfire still burning outside threw dark shadows against the wall, and Steph couldn't help shivering again. Something was going on; her spidey sense had never been ratcheted this high, and had never screamed so loudly that she needed to grab Angie and get the hell out of this medieval nightmare.

The smooth varnished wood of the door panel was reassuringly solid underneath her fingers as Steph pushed open the door to the restroom. The door thudded closed behind Lisbet, cutting off the sounds, excitement and disappointments of the Renaissance Faire, replacing them with the leaden quiet of the small room. The silence echoed off the white porcelain sinks with their gleaming aluminum hardware and the one long mirror that ran from the high frosted window to the light switch by the door. Two large globe pendant lights hung from the bare rafters, more suited to a library than a restroom planted between the modern and medieval worlds.

Steph stumbled to a sink and leaned her elbows on the rim, her forehead resting on the cool porcelain. Her head still spun, and everything was surreal, like a morning that came too early after an all night bender. That usually meant a splitting headache wasn't far off, and somehow she knew that McDonald's didn't put nearly enough salt on their fries to make this one go away. With a deep sigh, Steph raised her head and looked in the mirror.

_Train wrec_k was a compliment. _Natural disaster_ was a polite dodge from a kindly old lady too blind to see the difference between her pet Papillon and a rabid raccoon. Her eyes moved from the purpling bruise on her forehead to the angry red scratch marring her cheek and the bigger bruise partially hidden by the collar of the tunic.

Her fingers brushed the edges of the bruise on her neck as she swallowed. She stared into eyes that were tired beyond belief, with shadows edging them that were deep enough to be bruises, and lines that pulled down the corners of her mouth.

A movement behind her reminded her of Lisbet's presence, and Steph blinked a couple of times. "Um, could you get me some ice water from the kitchen?" she asked, her voice softer than she wanted it to be. At this point, she probably couldn't fake a cheery smile if her life depended on it. "My throat's a little scratchy."

"Of course, my lady." Lisbet didn't hesitate. She bobbed a little curtsy and slipped through the door. Steph covered her face with her hands to block out the rest of the world and this crazy, mixed-up day.

Electricity spun across her skin and Steph suppressed an instinctive shiver. "Ranger?"

Warm fingers brushed the nape of her neck, and this time she did shiver. She couldn't help it. Either Ranger affected her like the first cold wind in fall, or like the full heat of a midsummer day at noon. There was no in-between with him, no middle ground. Sometimes she wished there was something that she could hold on to, something that would give her an anchor to reality while he worked his magic, wicked way with her.

"Steph," he whispered, his breath running lightly against her ear. His presence was like a shadow next to her. "What happened? You were off-grid for six hours."

Unbidden, Steph raised her head and her eyes sought his in the reflection of the mirror. His expression was blank, as unknowable as the surface of the lake in the maze. A chill of a different kind swept through her as she searched for some scrap of warmth or humor in the dark depths of Ranger's eyes. Light glittered back at her, cold and hard.

"I fell asleep," she said, then frowned. Lying didn't work with Ranger. He had some sort of Bat radar that always knew when she wasn't telling the truth. Half truth or complete non-truth, he always knew.

"You need to be more careful," he said, drawing back from her. She stared hard at him as he backed up to the far wall and crossed his arms loosely. There was nothing even remotely amused in his dark gaze, not even a twitch of his lips to indicate that he found her pathetic attempt at lying humorous. There was nothing. She couldn't tell if he was pissed at her for being careless or didn't care at all.

"I needed some time to think," she said, trying to force her mind to do just that. "Are you okay? Palamon beat on you pretty hard this afternoon."

Ranger didn't move. "I'm fine. I think you should get Angie and leave. You're done here."

The utter flatness of his voice kicked her intuition up several alert levels. Ranger could do flat with the best of them, but the complete deadness of tone was so not him. Steph turned around, mirroring his pose with crossed arms of her own. She tilted her head to the side and studied him, noting the bruising visible just below his collar and the stiff way he held his shoulders.

"I could say the same for you," she said, proud of her even tone. "The horse doesn't seem to like you very much. I can't say I'm all that crazy about this side of you either."

"I don't pay you to like me. I pay you to get the job done, but it looks like that's not going to happen." The corners of his mouth were pulled down and he was pinning her with a stare that had nothing to do with the warm-hearted lover who had paid for her dress and picked out an exquisite parure. Steph's eyes widened as she backed up a step.

Ranger barked out a laugh. "Scared, _Babe_? Did you finally realize that you've been standing too close to the big boys and are about to get burned really, really bad?"

He pushed off from the wall and Steph kept backing up until she ran into the edge of the sink. She grabbed the cool surface with fingers that were slick with sweat, and she gasped for breath that didn't make it into her lungs. The world tilted and spun again, and her stomach heaved as Ranger took one more step towards her.

"Stop," she said weakly, and tears stung her eyes as she heard her voice echo off the tile like a dying man's whisper. "This isn't you, Ranger. I don't know what angle you're working, but this isn't the man I know and love."

Ranger didn't react beyond his eyes darkening to the color of endless night. Without the warmth that was always lurking in his gaze, they were as empty and cold as a shark's, with just as much mercy in them. Without that life, they were nothing.

"Marcus hasn't given me the information yet," Steph said, desperately grasping at anything to say.

Ranger raised an eyebrow at her. "Why would Sir Marcus give you anything? He couldn't give his horse's broad ass about you."

"But—"

A sharp rap on the door interrupted her.

"Stephanie? Are you well?"

She flinched as Marcus's voice, muffled by the solid wood, broke the standoff. Before she could answer, the knight opened the door and walked in, his sheathed sword rattling against the tiles.

Ever aware of the deadliness that was Ranger, Steph pushed herself even harder against the sink and silently prayed that she wouldn't do anything stupid. She glanced at Ranger's impassive expression and Marcus's grim one and amended her request. Please, God, don't let me do anything _too_ stupid.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when the silence had gone on too long. "What happened to Lisbet?"

The knight flicked his gaze past Ranger, dismissing him from consideration. "Lisbet was worried that you might be taking seriously ill. I came to aid you."

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. You can go now." Steph stared hard at Marcus, trying to convey with raised eyebrows that he should take the hint and leave. He didn't move, and she flipped a hand at him. "Shoo."

Both men looked at her, but only Ranger spoke. "Babe, maybe you should be the one to 'shoo'. It's time I had a few words with the big, badass knight."

Marcus reached out and picked up Steph by the arms, placing her so he stood between her and Ranger. Then he turned back towards Ranger and the tone of his voice when he spoke made Steph glad she couldn't see his face. "Go back to your mistress, little dog. Felise keeps a tight leash on her toys."

"I'm not leaving yet," said Ranger. He didn't seem to move, but the air clogged in Steph's lungs as her heart beat faster. She knew that he was coiled like a spring, ready to act within the blink of an eye.

Marcus shook his head slowly. "Tell Harecote she will not win this battle. She was warned the last time; there will be no forgiveness again. Is Hell so little a consideration that she would risk its choice as her final fate?"

Ranger settled back on his heels ever so slightly. "You're the one who will see Hell first, _malparido_."

"I crawled through Hell on the day of my dying," Marcus said. He closed the distance between him and Ranger, crowding the other man back with the intensity of his voice alone. "They tortured anyone they found alive until even the carrion eaters fled from that place of death."

"Did you hide? Were you _scared_?" Ranger taunted.

Marcus leaned in and his voice dropped to a conversational tone. "Someone else found me before I died, and that is why Harecote will fail. I know what waits for her in Hell, and if she does not forswear this path, I will escort her there myself."

Surprisingly, Ranger didn't answer. He didn't move either, other than to slowly raise his eyebrow in mute challenge. Marcus held his gaze for a long beat before holding out his hand to Steph. "My lady, if you would return with me to the feast?"

Her fingers shook as she took his proffered hand. Her gaze slid towards Ranger, willing him to stop her from leaving, but he was silent. As Marcus slid a protective arm around her, Steph felt a tiny catch in her throat. Somehow turning her back on Ranger felt final, like she was abandoning the last friend she thought she could count on. For whatever reason, he had decided to quit acting like she was important to him, and she was a drowning swimmer losing her last grip on the ice before being dragged underwater into the darkness.

As Marcus opened the door, Ranger finally spoke. "If you're so enamored with Stephanie, you're welcome to her. Just don't lend her your horse if you want him back in one piece."

"If I lend her my horse, it is not Palamon who will be in danger of bodily injury." With that parting shot, Marcus guided Steph through the door and into the hallway. He urged her into a fast walk that was almost indecent in its haste.

"What's your rush?" she asked as she broke into a trot to keep up with him. "You should have thought of the consequences before you pissed off Ranger. He could rat you out to the Faire management."

"I do not care about the Faire management. I owe allegiance only to His Grace, and he is the only one I serve." Marcus didn't slow down. He slid a hand under her elbow and nearly propelled her off her feet.

"Whoa! Wait a minute! I thought you were working with Ranger!" Steph got one foot on the ground and dug in as hard as she could. Marcus stopped rather than drag her, and swung her around so her back was to the wall. Over his shoulder, she could see part of the bonfire still burning outside, and the dark figures that danced around it.

Marcus studied her. "I work only for Westborne, Stephanie. Maybe in your world it is no small thing to divide your loyalties, but I am a simple man. I gave mine to those who saved my life at considerable risk to themselves. I will not be forsworn."

Steph stared at him in surprise. "But you're Mark. Ranger said the name of his informant was Mark. You were supposed to make contact with me and give me information to pass along to Ranger. He said that you would find me."

For a very long moment, Marcus stared at her, his hand braced against the wall above her head. Finally he blew out an exasperated breath. "My name is Marcus Vergilius Cassianus. No one ever calls me 'Mark'. And I would hope to God Almighty that Palamon sits on me until I expire before I ever consented to work for that pretty plaything we just left in the women's restroom."

Her face grew hot as she stared at him, her mind spinning with the enormity of what she'd just done. After all of Ranger's careful work to get an inside informant, after all of the hours of surveillance and groundwork, she had just blown RangeMan's cover so thoroughly that they would never be able to crack this close knit community again. With just a few careless words, she'd managed to bring the whole house of cards tumbling down.

"Oh, no," she whispered, closing her eyes and wishing desperately that this day had never been. "Oh, God damn . . ."

His callused hand muffled the rest of what she was going to say, and Steph's eyes flew open. She peered at him over the edge of his hand, and Marcus shook his head at her. "Forbear. Please. That is definitely the last thing we need right now."

Even though she couldn't talk around his rather large hand, there was nothing wrong with her eyes. Steph gave him a super charged Burg death glare, and was slightly reassured when he took a step back and removed the hand.

"Let's just forget this all happened, okay?" Steph said. She swallowed hard. "You can go back to your Let's Pretend, and I'll take my niece and go back to my pathetic excuse for a life. If I'm lucky, this will be a bad dream when I wake up tomorrow morning and the only souvenir will be a case of indigestion."

"No one is that fortunate," said Marcus wearily. He stared down at her, his dark eyes troubled. Then he dropped his head in defeat. "I am assuming that boy is a friend of yours?"

She stifled the urge to look towards the restroom. The last thing she wanted was to remind herself of that particular chapter of the Stephanie Plum Disaster. "I used to think so. Now I'm not so sure."

"Stay away from him."

"_What_?" The death glare was back, and this time it brought Jersey attitude with it. "Don't even think you have any right to dictate who I see and who I don't. If my mother and Joe Morelli can't tell me what to do, you sure as hell aren't even in the running."

Marcus winced. "I do not mean forever. Harecote will use the boy to hurt you, if only for the pleasure of doing so. Stay away from him until she tires of playing with him. He will have but a vague memory of these days, and no idea as to why his friends and acquaintances treat him differently."

"What are you trying to say?" This time Steph did look towards the restroom. "Ranger doesn't do anything he doesn't want to."

"In this case, he chose to accept Felisse's gift. In doing so, he accepted whatever hold she chose to exercise over him." Marcus hesitated. "Stephanie, I know you have accepted talismans from Estrella and from the Duke, but you must be careful. The power that is in this place may require your life and your soul as the price."

"Neither is worth that much," she said miserably. No matter how stubborn Marcus was about keeping in character, there was no hiding the fact that she had not only outed RangeMan's investigation into the Faire, but had been told by Ranger himself to go home. Through explosions, firebombings, kidnappings and many, many broken Merry Men, Ranger had never given up on her in the middle of an operation. That alone was an indication of how badly she had screwed up everything.

Marcus slid his hand around her upper arm and hoisted her upright. "I should know by now that you, Stephanie, are beyond this knight's ken. All I can offer is my protection. For the rest, I must defer to those who can See more than I."

"There's not much to s-" A flare from the bonfire outside caught her attention, and she peered around Marcus through the door. "Isn't that bigger than it was a while ago? It's not going to get out of control, is it?"

He glanced over his shoulder, the firelight striking deep into his dark eyes. "It is time for us to rejoin the others. We run hard against the deadline."

"I'm thinking I'll just collect Angie and-" Steph broke off again as the knight pulled her down the hallway. "Easy! You're the second guy today to think that he has free rein to manhandle me."

"Pray to God that I am the last," Marcus said, and halted in front of the double doors. He took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on Steph to one that was more genteel, and pushed open the right hand door.

The conversation swirling around the hall seemed too loud and too forced, and it fell around Steph like hail in a storm. Her footsteps lagged and Sir Marcus glanced down at her as she slowed to a stop.

"Stephanie?"

"I-" She shook her head and tried to find her equilibrium without success. Usually when events and incidents hit her at such a swift pace, she always had her link to Ranger to fall back on. Thinking of him was like finding an island of calm where she could catch her breath and decide on her next move. But now the thought of him brought only sadness and a pain that shot straight through her heart.

Beside her, Marcus muttered something that sounded less than happy. Steph glanced up to see the Duke rise from his seat and walk towards them. "Sir Marcus?"

"The Countess Harecote, Your Grace," said the knight. "She seeks to throw us off the scent while Gallus has free rein amongst the innocent."

The Duke's gaze fell on Steph and he frowned. Before she could protest, he smoothly lifted her hand from Sir Marcus's arm and tucked it into his elbow. Without a word, he steered her towards their table, pulling her haplessly along by virtue of her attached hand. Then she caught a glimpse of the Lady Felise smirking at her from the royal table, and her Italian temper flared like the fire outside.

His Grace the Duke slowed to ease past a couple of waiters and Steph set herself to pull free. Even though she put all of her strength and more than a little weight behind it, the Duke showed absolutely no sign that he even noticed her escape attempt. He guided her to her chair and planted her in the seat with a firmness that she recognized from her childhood. It was the universal definitiveness each parent used when the miscreant in question was to stay put, without argument, until permission to move was granted.

It hadn't worked back then, either.

The Duke's hands had barely left her shoulders before she was on her feet, the Hungarian fire burning hotter with each passing second. After a long day and too many snubs, cuts and criticisms, Steph was no longer taking it. She took a step towards the royal table, where she could see Felise laughing merrily at the attention of some fair-haired Adonis.

The Duke glanced at her. "Stephanie, sit."

Her mouth opened to give him a piece of her mind, but her body had other ideas. Before Steph could blink, she found herself back in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. It took the space of a second blink for her to process the change in position, and by the third blink she had several choice Italian words picked out that she'd never used in her arguments with Joe Morelli.

In a swirl of silk velvet, Estrella rose from her place beside Angie and hurried over to their side of the table. Istvan started forward, but she waved him off as she knelt by Steph.

"Stephanie, please. Temper will not help us here."

Tears stung at her eyes as she looked into Estrella's earnest blue gaze. "I can't let her get away with it. Ranger is my friend. He deserves better than this."

Estrella smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as she patted her hand. "He deserves the best, and we will make sure he gets it."

With a last pat, she rose and turned towards the Duke. He gazed down at her, his expression changing from a carefully neutral one to something far more solemn. His Grace nodded once. He switched his attention to Steph for a long moment, and she felt his study strip away every one of her denials and pretenses. His dark blue eyes did not allow any secrets, and by the time he released her from his regard, Steph knew she no longer had any. At least, not from him.

"Lady Finncapall, if you would be so kind?" he asked.

"Of course, Your Grace." Estrella curtsied to him, a slow gesture of deep respect. As she straightened, Marcus came up behind her and stood like a silent sentry, waiting. In their little corner of the Hall, cut off from the music and the laughter of the other diners, Steph felt them all surrounding her and just . . . waiting.

"I'm sorry," she said to the Duke. "Things are getting really complicated really fast. I don't know what to do anymore, because everything I try to do winds up making things worse."

He placed his hand over hers. "This is not an easy path, my Stephanie. I cannot walk it for you, but I can do what is within my power to make it easier for you. Dance with me."

The words didn't penetrate right away, and Steph was nodding before she figured exactly what he meant. Her eyes opened wide as she whipped her head around to stare at him.

"What the hell—"

He held up a finger. "Do not fear. This is something that must happen. I will not allow the Countess of Harecote to doubt where you stand with Westborne. You have my protection, for as long as it means aught."

"And mine as well," said Estrella, her voice firm. "Finncapall stands with you, Stephanie Plum."

"As do I." Marcus nodded once, his dark gaze somber.

"Good. Then we are agreed." The Duke beckoned to Istvan. "My compliments to the Master Bard, and Westborne requests a dance tune. The karabushka, an he pleases."

The page bowed and scurried through the crowd. Steph followed him with her eyes, watching as he ducked past a couple performing intricate dance steps along one side of the open square left by the dining tables. He waited until the musicians finished their song before hurrying forward to whisper in the chief harp player's ear. The man listened for a moment, spoke a couple of words, and Istvan bowed and came back.

A chill swept through Steph as she watched the Master Bard look long and steady at the Duke across the crowded room. The Duke nodded once, to which the Bard answered with a single nod of his own before turning and giving directions to the other minstrels in the group.

"Come, Stephanie. I beg a dance from you tonight." The Duke of Westborne offered his hand to her.

Steph stared at it for a long moment before shaking her head. "I can't. I don't know the steps. I'll screw it up and make everyone look stupid."

"My dear Stephanie." The Duke leaned over and gently kissed her temple. He dropped his voice to a whisper so only she could hear. "I will not allow it. Tonight, they will see you with new eyes, and they will forget the old things. Please. Share this dance with me."

She tried to look away from him, but she was caught in his gaze like a moth pinned to a board. Slowly, she nodded. "If you'll answer one question, I'll trust you to make sure I don't make a fool out of myself on the dance floor."

"Fair enough. Ask what you will. If it violates none of my oaths, I will answer you truthfully." The Duke straightened, giving her room to breathe.

"Why me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. Surprisingly, it didn't have the whiny tones that she often associated with her mother's favorite phrase. She kept her eyes steady on the Duke, waiting in an agony of suspense that he would laugh at her, or brush away her question with a witty, cutting remark.

The Duke smiled at her and held out his hand. There was a heartbeat of hesitation as she stared at it, but Steph finally placed her hand in his and let him bring her to her feet. His fingers curled around hers with a surprisingly firm but gentle grip, and he led her through the tables towards the dance floor, with Estrella and Marcus close behind. Lady Wainhill rose from the table as well, and Sir Henri offered her his arm as he escorted her through the crowd of departing dancers.

"Ah, here comes your answer," said the Duke suddenly, and then Lady Felise, Countess of Harecote, stepped in front of Stephanie to bar her way.

"Your Grace is most welcome to our little celebration," she said as she swept him a low curtsy. "Has all been to your satisfaction this evening?"

The Duke gave her the merest of nods, nothing that could ever be mistaken for an acknowledgement of anything beyond her mere presence. "Countess Harecote. I will see you and your husband in the King's presence within the fortnight. Do not presume to be lacking in haste."

The smile fell off her face, but she managed to keep her composure as she curtsied again. "It will be our pleasure to wait upon His Grace. I look forward to being of service."

There was no doubt in any one's mind why Felise put a peculiar emphasis on the word service. Steph felt the bile rising in her throat, but a gentle squeeze on her hand from the Duke made it subside.

"You will find no pleasure in this, Countess," said the Duke with just a hint of frigid ice in his voice. "Did you think Westborne had forgot? I will see your work of this day amply repaid, as is my right."

"You cannot. The King ruled on my part. You dare not gainsay the King." Felises's voice had risen to an unpleasant shrillness, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

The Duke didn't seem to notice the change in tone. Instead, he stared at a point directly above Felise, his air one of a man disinterested beyond all thought by her complaints. Then he flicked his gaze down, and Felise faltered and took a step backwards.

"Do not presume to dictate my path," the Duke said softly. "And do not presume that your husband's past service to my family and office will shield you an you dabble in these matters again. I know what you have wrought this day, and be assured that you will answer for it. Completely. To the last drop. I will see to it myself, or I will set Meredon loose on 't. Are we clear, Countess Harecote?"

"Perfectly clear." Lady Felise dropped another curtsy, this one slow and ponderous, dripping with irony. As she shot a murderous glance at Stephanie, the Duke made a quick gesture with his free hand.

"Countess, do you seek to compound your problems? Anything you set out against those under my protection will also see you passed to the King's jurisdiction. This time, there will be no one to plead clemency for you."

Felises's expression changed from simpering servility to outright hatred in a flash. Steph nearly took a step back away from the pure vitriol, but the Duke's solid arm held her captive. Rather than struggle like a rabbit caught in a snare, Steph swallowed hard and raised her chin, summoning every bit of Jersey attitude she'd ever been able to muster.

"Enjoy your brief moment in the sun of Westborne's favor," Felise snarled. "They will tire of you and cast you aside, and when they do, I will be waiting. Meanwhile, I will thoroughly enjoy myself with my newest pet. He should be worth at least a few nights of pleasure, think you not? Pity there will not be much left of him when I am finished."

Without the slightest acknowledgement of the Duke, she spun around, her skirts flaring out around her, and stormed off the dance floor. The Duke didn't react, just watched her with that steady gaze. Steph felt the coiled tension in the arm he kept around her shoulder, but outwardly he was the picture of calm, studied elegance.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Estrella, ma petit, remind me to have Donat draw up the legal papers. Lady Felise thinks she has called my bluff. It is to her discredit that I was not bluffing."

"Of course, Uncle," murmured Estrella. She gave Steph a look that she couldn't begin to decipher, then nodded. "Methinks the dance is more important than ever, now."

"Yes, it is." The Duke offered Steph his arm. "You wished an answer to your question, Stephanie. I give you but one. You have a good heart, and a generous one at that. It lies within our oaths as knights and ladies to ward these things wherever we may find them. It is part of our service."

"Service to what?" asked Steph. Her mind was still trying to process everything that was going on, and her anger was fading fast, leaving behind only a terrible, draining exhaustion. The Duke didn't reply. Instead, he took her hand and swung her wide in a circle around him in the open space of the dance floor. Her trajectory carried her into the middle, where she felt horribly exposed, then ended with her securely by his side once again. Gently, he drew her close and bent over to whisper in her ear.

"Trust me, Stephanie. I will keep you well. I swear it upon my house's honor, and before the Throne of God Himself."

Looking into the dark blue eyes, Steph felt the world around her drop away. All she could think of was the sincerity in his gaze, and the fatherly love that reminded her so much of her own father's best moments. Wordlessly, she nodded, and his smile warmed the blue until she could feel an answering warmth travel through her.

"Good," he said. "Look into my eyes, Stephanie, and I will show you what it means to be beloved of Westborne."

The warning of her rescuer in the forest flashed through her mind. "I don't want to get lost," she said.

He touched her temple lightly, drawing his finger across her cheek and tapping it on the end of her nose. "I promise you that you will not be lost. Your path is before you, and your feet will not stray from it."

A shrill chorus of pipes broke the strange spell, and Steph bit her lip as the other dancers took up their positions. It seemed odd to see Lady Wainhill so serious as she faced her husband, and Estrella's slight build dwarfed so completely by Marcus. Then the drums hit a staccato beat, and each lady sank into a deep curtsy as the men bowed.

Awkwardly, Steph followed suit, not quite sure how to pull off the graceful movement while wearing torn and dirty jeans and a squire's borrowed tunic. The Duke smiled at her and she glanced up at him, only to feel her insides freeze as his dark gaze went straight through her.

Still holding her gaze, the Duke turned her so she faced the same direction as the others, and as his arm slid across her shoulders, he leaned over and whispered softly in her ear. "Trust me, Stephanie. I will not let you fall."


End file.
